


Legends Never Die

by Star_Gazing_Knight



Series: Legends [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Astrals - Freeform, Body Swap, But they're swapping with themselves, Character Death, Dimension Travel, F/M, M/M, Multi, Politics, War, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 89,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Gazing_Knight/pseuds/Star_Gazing_Knight
Summary: Noctis never recovers from the Marilith attack, thus leaving Bahamut no other choice but to bestow upon Carbuncle one simple job: summon a King of Kings from an alternative timeline.  How was Carbuncle suppose to know that such a seemingly easy task would turn out to be anything but?The Eos those summoned by Carbuncle wake up to is similar to their own, but difference enough to leave some -- more than others -- floundering.  Do they choose to continue their destiny, or will they fight fate to restore the light another way?**UPDATES EVERY MONTH**





	1. THE GLAIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first FFXV fanfiction. I'm pulling from a couple different theories and ideas that I had from before I started the game as well as knowledge from AFTER, including DLC content. 
> 
> I plan to update once a month; especially because these chapters are considerably longer than my usual length. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy my fic; I'm really excited to share it with you guys! :D 
> 
> Alot of the Galahdan customs were inspired by various FFXV fanfics I've read; most notably [notavodkashot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot)'s.

The messenger of Dreams and Healing bounced about the Citadel of Dreams. Had things not gone awry, the smallest messenger suspected that there would have been a visitor some years ago: the young King of Kings. 

But there had never been any King of Kings here, at least… not yet.

The messenger of Dreams and Healing, also known to mortals as Carbuncle, had been tasked with something of utmost importance. Something was so impossible, only Carbuncle could have done it as it needed to be done here. For the Citadel of Dreams was more than just Carbuncle’s domain, it was also where _before_ and _after_ intersected and met, the boundary of _life _and _death,_ and of _sleep _and _awake. _It was here that _night _met _day;_ and anything _impossible_ could be _possible_ if one only had faith.

Carbuncle set himself to work, positive that this seemingly impossible task set before him would be simple enough. After all, how difficult could it really be to find a King of Kings?

~

Libertus liked to think of himself as a simple man with simple desires. And for all intents and purposes, his desires in life were simple. A happy home, a happy family, some good food, and everyone he cared about around him. 

As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t too much to ask for. Especially when compared against those who asked for Glory, Honor, Fame, Money, etc. He just wanted happiness, preferably at his home in Galahd surrounded by equally happy and content friends.

He should have known that dream would never come true the moment he became friends with an _Ulric_. 

It wasn’t that he regretted his choice – because there wasn’t a thing in the world that could make him regret his friendship – but there was a reason most Galahdans respected the surname _Ulric_. And with that respect also came a heavy dose of concern and avoidance.

Although whether that concern was for the poor Galahdan who got stuck with the _Ulric_ or for the _Ulric_ themselves, Libertus couldn’t say. Especially not since knowing Nyx for the majority of his life. And for as much trouble as Nyx got them into, he bailed them out just as much.

But it seemed that Nyx’s luck and talent at getting out of rough spots hadn’t been enough. Not this time. 

Which brought Libertus back to his now impossible dream. A happy home, a happy family, some good food, and everyone he cared about around him. An impossible dream without Nyx. 

“You’re a right bastard.” Libertus grunted as he rubbed at his face, the rain slick against his skin. 

Above him, the sky lit up with lightning, thunder echoing in the clouds. The onslaught of rain was nothing against the flaming clinic where Nyx’s body was being stored.

The loss of the clinic wasn’t as big of an issue as the few Lucians in the area seemed to think it was. The clinic was only really used by the rare Lucian tourists who never listened to the native Galahdans; so its loss wasn’t really a big deal. 

No, the issue was with Nyx’s body. As far as the Galahdans were concerned, the loss was sacrilege. Even more so because Nyx was an _Ulric_; and _Ulrics_ came from Galahd in the ways only _old_ families did, and so to Galahd they should return.

Selena was going to be furious when she found out, if she hadn’t already. She had already been pissed off at the customs imposed upon her and her family, but this was just adding more fuel to the fire. And well, Libertus couldn’t blame her for being furious at the Lucians. If it wasn’t for them, then Nyx would have already been given his traditional Galahdan rites instead of being in a currently on-fire clinic.

And while Libertus couldn’t blame Selena for her anger at the Lucians, Libertus’ anger laid elsewhere.

Like with the Fulgurian. 

Yes, it was because of the Lucians that Nyx’s body was in the clinic… but it was because of the Fulgurian that Nyx was dead to begin with, and it was because of the Fulgurian that the clinic where Nyx’s body had been held was now aflame.

After the funeral, the Lucians would have returned Nyx’s body for the proper customs. He would have eventually gotten the rites he deserved. Not… not this.

It wasn’t the Galahdan way to burn bodies. No, that was something more commonly practiced in the outer territories, especially closer towards Cleigne. 

Libertus’ hands curled into fists, and he only just barely resisted the urge to shout up at the rainy sky and demand to know why Ramuh was so set against his friend. He didn’t if only because he knew Nyx wouldn’t want him to go the same way, and besides, he had a childhood promise to look after Selena if anything happened to Nyx.

Instead, he tucked his fists into his pockets and continued to watch the fire as it consumed the clinic. Fucking Astrals.

There was a loud snapping noise as part of the building collapsed in on itself. “Looks like he’s getting Crowe’s idea of a funeral after all.” Libertus said to himself. “Hope your happy now, old man.” He muttered bitterly as an afterthought, tossing a glare up into the thundering sky.

One of the few non-panicking Lucians shot him a dirty look that he promptly ignored.

“Aren’t you concerned as to how the fire started?” They snapped at him after a moment and that was enough to garner Libertus’ attention. He stared at them in mild disbelief, not comprehending why they would even ask that question. He thought it was rather obvious, and as if to prove that point, the skies lit up as a bolt of lightning raced down to strike either the clinic or near the clinic.

The number of panicking Lucians increased.

Libertus’ hands were shaking now as he watched the fire. “He’s already dead.” He growled out, kicking at the slick mud and sending it splattering in the direction of the clinic. “He’s dead and burned. Haven’t you done enough?” He asked the sky.

Both Lucians and Galahdans were giving him a wide berth. The Lucians out of mild fear that he was crazy, the Galahdans because of the fear of Ramuh’s retribution.

Thunder answered him, rumbling loud enough that he could feel it in his heart and lungs. 

“We should put the fire out.” Libertus heard one of the Lucians say. He spun around on his heel and growled through his teeth. 

“No fucking point.” He barked out.

Another Galahdan not-unkindly added, “If the rain hasn’t put it out yet, aint nothing we can do to put it out.” 

Proving a point, another strike of lightning hit the clinic. The Lucians shouted, while the few Galahdans just stared. This just proved Libertus’ assumption that the Fulgurian was involved: lightning didn’t tend to hit the same place more than once otherwise. One of the Galahdans started mummering a prayer to the Stormsender. 

Fat load of good he had done Nyx. No, the Stormsender was his murderer. 

Of course, there was also the matter of what the hell Nyx had done to piss the Stormsender off this much. Because the Stormsender could be rough, but he was rarely malicious. And if he was truly being malicious, then they all would have suffered, not just Nyx.

So that left the question, “By the Six, Nyx, what did you do?”

Of course, there wasn’t any way for Nyx to reply. Libertus would probably never find out what his best friend had done that had upset the Astral so much. 

He growled to himself and turned to leave, unable to continue to watch the clinic burn. Nyx didn’t deserve to be remembered like this, and this storm didn’t deserve to be admired or appreciated. 

Naturally, that was when the screaming started; coming from the place where the sole occupant had been his best friend’s dead body. And well, Libertus might have been wrong, but he was pretty sure that _the dead didn’t scream._

~

Nyx was on fire.

Which wasn’t exactly something _new_ to Nyx, but it certainly wasn’t something that was expected or wanted. Crowe had a horrible habit of being a firebug when drunk, and well, seeing people dance around trying to put the flames out was always amusing – to everyone but the person on fire. 

That being said, this wasn’t that type of fire.

This was another type of fire, equally as family to Nyx if only because this was the fire that had killed him. It had burned through him before, searing his body from the inside out as it raced through his veins. This was a fire that seared through the flesh of his body to feast upon his soul. 

“This is unexpected.” He barely heard the whisper. 

Had he the capacity, he would have snapped back with a resolute, “No Shit.” As it were, he wasn’t entirely convinced that he hadn’t. He didn’t even know why this was happening. 

He had been content in the astralplane… in the beginning when he was at peace with his family. But as he watched the so-called ‘future’ that the Astrals and Lucii had fought so hard to preserve, he was filled with irate frustration. 

In the words of Crowe: _“All that fighting we did… all for nothing.” _

So yeah he was a little angry and bitter in the afterlife, but that didn’t explain why he was here, burning… again. He paid his price already, so why was he paying for it a second time?

“This is not the Chosen King.” A voice like thunder sounded, except it _wasn’t_ thunder. Nyx was Galahdan, and he _knew_ thunder. It echoed in his ears and pounded against his skull like drums. 

Once more, Nyx’s initial reaction was an eloquent, “No Shit.” 

Because of course he wasn’t the Chosen King. He wasn’t even royalty, unless one counted Galahd, but he doubted that counted. Galahd never counted for anything other than as a territory of Lucis anymore.

No, he was just a Glaive from Galahd with some unfortunate – or incredible, depending on who one asked – luck.

“What do we do?” The first voice asked. Compared to the second voice, it sounded like a squeaky toy hammer. Nyx wasn’t entirely sure which was worse: the annoying squeaky hammer or the brain-rattling drum.

“He shalt be placed.” The drums replied after what was probably a long moment of contemplation. Nyx decided that the Drums were considerably worse. There was another long pause. “The debt to the Kings of Lucis wilt needeth to be settled.” 

Oh, Astrals no. If Nyx understood that correctly, Drums was saying he owed the Lucii and well, “Fuck that.” Nyx said, or at least tried to. 

It was a bit hard to speak when one’s soul was burning through their body. He curled his hand into a fist and fought through the pain. He had fought Glauca through this pain once before, and he could manage now again.

“I paid my due.” Nyx bit out, opening his eyes to the swirling void of fire, light, and darkness around him. For a moment he thought he saw the ceiling of the Citadel, or maybe a halo of… swords? “I’m not double paying for shit. Certainly not this.”

There was silence following his words and then a hushed snide whisper from a new voice. “For a human, this one has spark.”

The new voice was another unknown, but it reminded Nyx of the crackle of embers. It brought to mind the days he would sit by the fireplace, hanging his clothes to dry after a successful Walk, a strew hanging over the fire along with various herbs and spices. The smiles of his mother and sister as they braided their hair in the light of the hearth.

“He is one of mine.” Now _that_ was a voice like thunder. It was a voice that Nyx instantly recognized. He heard it in every rumble of thunder and gust of wind; in every whisper of rain against roofs and skin and ground. The Fulgurian: Ramuh.

“_Fire_ is what burns through him,” Embers argued, “None shalt tame it like I.”

“He was born with the _storm_. No _Fire_ can burn that out.”

“Enough.” Drums commanded, and miraculously, both Ramuh and Embers fell silent.

“Once fully given, our Light cannot be taken back.” As if summoned by the talk of the so-called debt owed to them, one of the Lucii spoke. They sounded troubled and Nyx was viciously pleased by that. It was honestly the best part of this whole ordeal so far.

Because burning through his soul, annoying voices, and Nyx’s _favorite_ Kings of Lucis were exactly what Nyx wanted out of the afterlife. Not.

“Oh, fuck off.” Nyx spat out, because honestly, he was _Done_.

Once again silence reigned after his words. The weight of disbelief weighed heavily on him. If he were able, he would have rolled his eyes. The Lucii had dealt with him once before, they honestly shouldn’t have expected anything else from _him_.

He was an _Ulric_, descended down from the last _Coeurl of Galahd_ before the formation of the Council. His loyalty and respect had to be _earned_, and thus far, Regis was the only one he would take a knee for.

“I find it hard to believe that we – even in a different time and place – would grant this one our power.” The Lucii who had spoken before said.

“Yours is not even Royal Blood.” Another complained.

“He is not worth—”

“I am _not_ having this conversation with you again.” Nyx growled. “Take your _boon_ and let me _rest_.” 

Silence again answered him. They claimed their light once given could not be taken back, but he hadn’t agreed to this. He didn’t agree to paying for it twice. He paid once, raised the Old Wall, fought Glauca, and died with the sunrise. 

He paid his price.

“The more he speaks, the more bearable he becomes.” Embers mused.

“The people of Galahd are _mine_.” Ramuh thundered. 

“Galahd?” One of the Lucii repeated, their tone an unspoken ‘that explains everything’.

Nyx honestly found the idea of Ramuh claiming _him_, claiming _Galahd_ laughable. It was a _joke_, except it wasn’t. The people of Galahd had once revered the Fulgurian and his fierce storms. He was their patron Astral, and yet in their moment of need, when they needed him most, he abandoned them.

They asked for help, and he turned a blind eye to their plight and pleas. He ignored them, and it cost them _everything_. Countless Galahdan lives lost and for what? Those that survived; they had no choice but abandon their island, their home. To hide away in the Crown City of Lucis, treated barely better than rats.

Tredd had that analogy right at least, no matter how much Nyx hated it.

“It seems the human disagrees.” There was a spark of amusement in Ember’s voice. 

“You left us.” Nyx accused the Fulgurian, because he was an _Ulric _and if there was going to be a chance for him to chastise Ramuh, then he was going to _take it_. “Galahd _burned_ and you _did nothing.” _

If he had a response, the Stormsender did not give it.

One of the Lucii cleared their throat. Nyx thought it might have been one of the few queens to be <strike>unfortunately</strike> lumped in with the Kings that made up the Lucii. He hadn’t been able to pay much attention to the Old Wall, but he was pretty sure that the Rouge Queen had kicked ass.

She always had been a favorite of his during story time.

“A Bond should, at minimum, ease the payment.” She advised cautiously. “As the warrior has claimed, his price has been paid once before.”

Thank. You.

“The payment owed is his life.” The same snooty Lucii from before said. 

“The payment will be paid through the Bond. He will pay his life, but not in death. His life will be in our service.”

Which sounded… not that great, if Nyx was honest. He already died in their service; he wasn’t interested in _living_ in their service. Especially since there was the small problem of him already being dead.

“Very well, Kings of Lucis.” Drums announced. “The price paid with life; a Bond formed.”

“Do I get a say?” Nyx asked. Because if he did get a say, he would very much like to a) stop burning, and b) rest. Preferably without having to double pay.

Not surprisingly, he was ignored by all present.

“He is one of mine!” Ramuh immediately stated. “I have not abandoned Galahd, nor this one. Not here in this place and time. If a Bond shalt be formed, it shalt be with I.”

“Need I remind thee, _Fire_ burns through him, old man.” 

“Fire and Storm both run through him.” The queen commented. “Neither can be removed, yet neither can a Bond be shared by two. It matters not to which he is Bonded.”

“It hath been decided.” Drums announced, with all the tone of someone uncertain of their decision but trying to sound like they were confident, “He shalt be placed and Bonded.”

…

Nyx didn’t like the sound of that; hadn’t liked the sound of that through the entire conversation. He didn’t even understand what bits of it meant. Bonded? Placed? 

…

He wanted a refund. He asked for _none_ of this. None of this.

He didn’t get a choice. The ‘floor’ seemed to drop out from underneath him, and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at a painfully familiar patterned ceiling – if only because most buildings in Galahd were patterned like this – as fire ignited along his left arm and crawled through his veins.

Heat washed over him as light flashed through the window. Thunder exploded, and Nyx screamed.

~

Crowe was on a mission when she received news that Nyx had died during a Walk. At first she had assumed it was some sort of prank. A Galahdan, die on a Walk? She so going to make good on her threat to punch Libertus for such a joke.

Wouldn’t be the first time she punched him for a poor joke, and, honestly, she didn’t think it’d be the last either. And it had to be a joke because what else could it be?

Like a little bit of lightning could actually kill Nyx, HA! It was just too stupid to be true. But there was something about the angry undercurrent of Libertus’ tone when he delivered the news that didn’t settle well with her.

It wasn’t possible for a Galahdan to die on a Walk… was it? And for all her jokes about Nyx dying doing something stupid… well, they were just jokes. 

She gave the news to their squad as a joke. The others took it as such, except the captain came to see them the next day. No one wanted to believe, but there was this _look _in his eyes, and all at once, everyone _knew. _

It wasn’t a joke. Nyx was really… gone.

Which seemed so impossible. Nyx was like the Kingsglaive version of the Marshall. He was unkillable, immortal. Nyx did shit all the time that should have resulted in his death, and yet he just walked away. Heck, there was even a betting board on what would eventually kill Nyx.

Luche had his money on a hollowpoint, if only because they had all seen what those did to people. The Niffs were always fond of them. Tredd’s bet was on a daemon tearing Nyx apart after a bad warp. Axis’ was similar, but Nyx lose his kukri and that was why he couldn’t warp away. Pelna would never admit to having a bet, but she knew it was on a MA of some sort. 

But none of them had expected ‘An Act of an Astral’ to be Nyx’s cause of death. 

If Libertus was right and it was Ramuh who had stuck down Nyx and not a random lightning bolt. But there was no proof it was Ramuh to strike Nyx down. It was just unfortunate timing. Nyx just happened to be struck by lightning. It happened. Probably not a lot, but in a place as storm heavy as Galahd… she could imagine it happened more commonly.

Still… Nyx couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. Like, yes, he was always doing stupid life-risking stunts, but he always came out alive. He always survived. He was a _Hero_ and heroes didn’t just die while on a walk.

Even if said Walk was a religious experience that the Galahdans shared with their patron Astral.

But Libertus wouldn’t lie about something like Nyx’s death. Maybe he would for a quick prank, but it had been a couple days now, and well, Drautos had given them all the news, and it was _official_, and…

That didn’t make it any more real.

It wouldn’t be real to her until she touched Nyx’s ashes with her own bare hands – and that would never happen unless she decided to go to Galahd and find whatever damn monster Nyx had been fed to and killed it. Heck, with her luck, Nyx would probably be fed to the native coeurl population. 

Ugh.

She knocked back another glass of Galahd’s _finest_ and slammed the glass down on the table. The members of the squad didn’t even so much as bat and eye at her, except for Luche and Axis who she was sitting between.

Axis very carefully and slowly shifted his seat away from her, his gaze drifting between her empty glass and her face. Luche looked over to raise an eyebrow at her glass, and then returned to his phone. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might have been keeping a tally on her drinks.

“He saved my life.” She heard one of the newer members of their squad say from further down the table. Miles, a greenhorn but not as new as the guy who had spoken, laughed. 

“Join the fucking club. I think he’s saved everyone one of us at least once.”

“Fucking hero.” Tredd added on, taking a large gulp of his own Galahdan drink. He made a face as he put the glass down. “Fucking Galahdans and their shit drinks and shit food and shit heroics.”

Normally such a statement would at least get a protest, but it didn’t. Not tonight. Not when their Galahdan teammates were in Galahd and one was…

She stood up and through the spinning world, she saw several of the Glaive turn to look at her. “Need another drink.” She announced.

Luche laughed, the snide bitter laugh that was more of a sound than a laugh, and shook his head. “You need to slow down.” He argued. His hand found the back of her harness and with a strong tug, brought her back down to her seat. 

Crowe went down in any way but graceful; and spun around at him with her teeth bared and the beginnings of fire in her fingertips. 

On her other side, Axis scooted his seat a little further away – this time less subtle than any of the previous times. “Let’s not set off our resident mage, yeah?” He asked, looking around her at Luche. “Especially without…” He trailed off but he didn’t need to continue for everyone to know who he was referring to. 

Everyone knew Crowe was handled best with Nyx and Libertus, although Luche and Pelna were usually good substitutes if needed.

And of those mentioned, Pelna and Libertus were in Galahd, Nyx was… and Luche was pissing her off. So he was completely useless. They were all useless.

Luche shot Axis a very dark look before he cleared his throat and refocused on Crowe. “You aren’t doing him a favor by getting drunk off his shitty Galahdan alcohol. We’re supposed to be remembering him, not getting shit faced.”

“Oh fuck off.” Crowe snapped. “He was a good man. Smart in some ways, stupid in others. He picked fights he couldn’t win and somehow won, except for the fight he picked against an Astral. There; he’s remembered.”

Luche narrowed his eyes and made a face that only Luche could make. They all tested it. Pelna had gotten the closest, and Nyx hadn’t been able to make anything close to the face.

“Maybe you’ll get a bead.” One of the baby Glaives who thought they knew anything about Galahd said, like that made anything any better. Like wearing or having a bead made of Nyx’s Astral-damned bone made his death easier. “It’d look good in your hair.” They continued, ignoring Luche’s warning look.

The only thing that saved the poor kid was her phone ringing, and even then because the tone was Libertus’. 

Why would Libertus be calling her this late except to give her more bad news. What was next, Pelna died too?

Astrals, she hoped not, or she would be climbing up the Rock of Ravatogh to raise Ifrit to make hell for the Astrals who’d taken _two_ of her friends. She was pretty sure she could remember the information gained from her parents before they died. She could probably find his body. …Probably.

She answered the phone with a sharp snapping movement of her wrist, holding it up to her ear and wincing at the shock of static coming through. 

Cell connection was always unreliable in Galahd. Even more so when there was a storm going on. It certainly didn’t help that the Galahdans didn’t seem to understand that their phones worked better if they didn’t allow them to get wet by _standing in the rain without shelter_.

Fucking Galahdans.

The first noise Crowe heard on the call was the rumble of thunder. She wasn’t Galahdan, couldn’t hear and understand the storm like they could, but she swore it almost sounded… angry.

“Crowe.” Her breath was caught in her throat at Libertus saying her name. She had never heard him sound like this, even when he had called to tell her that Nyx was dead. He had been angry then, but this… “Crowe.” He repeated, saying he name like it was a lifeline he needed to keep himself alive.

In the background, there was another low long rumble of thunder. Goosebumps stood up on her skin, the feeling that Libertus had something _important_ to say suddenly heavy against her. It was sobering. She sank back into the seat, uncaring about everyone’s attention on her.

“Libertus?” She said. Luche made a pinched frown and then mouthed at her, asking if everything was okay. She wasn’t sure. She had _never_ heard Libertus like this. Maybe Nyx could have deciphered it, but Nyx was _gone_.

“Crowe.” Libertus said again. “—is—” Thunder rumbled again, the connection turned to static and then re-established itself. “—linic was burning an—” The connection cut out again. “Screaming.”

“You’re not making sense, Libertus. Who was screaming? What happened?” Well, that definitely got the attention of all the other Glaives. Luche’s pinched frown grew worse.

“Give me the—” She heard Pelna distantly say. 

There was a shuffle, more static, thunder, and then she heard Libertus say clearly, “Get back here!”

There was more static, and she swore she could hear Pelna and Libertus’ voices through it. Although their words were lost to the static. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” She nearly dropped her phone at the familiar <strike>impossible</strike> voice. It was muffled and full of static, but she would recognize it anywhere. There was another burst of static, and then a loud crashing noise that was bad enough that Crowe needed to move the phone away from her face. 

“Pelna? Libertus?” She said, but the line appeared to have gone dead. 

She stood up again and this time Luche didn’t pull her back down. She met his gaze, and saw worry and concern that she was sure was echoed in her own. “I’ll go try to call them back.” She said before turning on her heel to slip out of the bar.

She leaned against the side of the building and took a deep breath to calm herself before redialing. 

The phone rang and rang, but neither Pelna nor Libertus picked up.

~

Someone – probably one of the Lucians – had draped a blanket over his shoulders. Not that it helped much against the torrential downpour that Nyx refused to leave. The rain was a blessing against his skin, cooling the fires within – even if it couldn’t put them out. 

The clinic continued to burn, the rain continued to fall, and all around him continued to take turns staring between Nyx and the burning building he had been pulled from.

What a mess.

He was staring down at the mud which slipped around his feet and between his toes, marveling at the sensation. He was either alive or having an incredibly realistic dream in his afterlife, but this was the most sensation he had been given since burning his soul out for the ‘future’.

He wasn’t even sure how to answer how he felt, to be honest. He had been asked no less than ten times since Libertus – and he had to be alive if Libertus had pulled him out of the fire, right? – saved him. Was he hurt, was he in pain, what happened, how was he alive, _how did he feel_. So many questions. 

He didn’t have an answer for any of them.

“He’s a daemon.” Someone hissed harshly to Libertus. “He was dead, and now he’s not.”

The argument had been going on since Libertus had dragged his screaming steaming body out of the clinic and into the rain. Even now, whiffs of steam occasionally curled around him, rising up into the air as the fire of the Lucii burned within him.

“It’s not natural.” The person continued. There was a quiet mummer of agreement from some of the crowd.

Nyx grit his teeth and curled his hand into a fist. The Magic of the Lucii continued to run through his veins. It sung to him, pulling him towards fire, and to a smaller degree, electricity. Storm and Fire. He still had access to the King’s magic, but he couldn’t <strike>shouldn’t</strike> because the king was _dead_. Felled by Glauca – by Drautos – right before him.

No, not felled. _Slaughtered_.

But he put on the ring, and was granted the light of the kings, the power of the Lucii, the _King’s magic_. 

What. A. Mess.

“I didn’t agree to this.” Nyx muttered. No one heard him over the rain. The fire crackled and popped; the rain came down harder. “I didn’t agree to this.” Nyx repeated.

The magic burning through his veins reminded him too much of the fight with Glauca. His hands shook with the memory of the strength of his strikes. His breath was stolen from warping and banter and flying through the air as he jumped and leaped and warped around the Old Wall.

He should be _dead_. Why wasn’t he _dead_? He thought he might be in Galahd – it smelled the same if not a bit charred – but Galahd was _gone_, just like he was _dead_.

Except he wasn’t dead now, and apparently Galahd wasn’t gone now either.

“Libertus!” Someone cried out over the storm. He heard the grumble of people complaining as they were pushed aside to allow another through the crowd. The voice was familiar, too familiar. It didn’t make sense.

No, Nyx had seen him die. Libertus was still alive after Insomnia fell, but Ultros had killed this person. “Liber—” His voice cut off suddenly, and Nyx looked up from the mud to see him standing there, whole and unbroken, staring at Nyx with too wide eyes and his mouth agape. “Nyx?”

It wasn’t possible for Pelna to be alive. Ultros had picked him up and his body had just… crumpled. Nyx could still hear the Astral awful sirens, the screaming of Ultros, the sound of Pelna’s body slipping in Ultros’ slimy tentacle and the crack of his bones as he hit the wall.

Pelna was dead – but so was Nyx and Galahd, so maybe this was another part of the afterlife, but then why the fuck was Libertus here? 

“Pelna.” He said, his voice hoarse from the screaming and the smoke. Pelna fell to his knees by Nyx – ignoring the mud – as he took Nyx’s face in his hands. 

“Nyx.” Pelna said, like it was some sort of prayer. “You were dead.” He continued, more than a little frantic. “You were _dead_.” He repeated, stealing the words straight of out Nyx’s mouth and brain. “Six, your sister is going to go haywire.”

His… sister? Selena? Selena was dead. More dead people in a dead land. He side eyed Libertus, the only outlier so far. What was going on?

“Where are we?” The words tumbled out of Nyx’s mouth despite the fact he was positive they were in Galahd. They couldn’t be in Galahd because Galahd was gone, but then again Nyx was dead and so was Pelna and Selena so…

Pelna stared at him a long moment. “Galahd.” He said, barely audible over the storm. “We’re in Galahd, Nyx.”

Nyx’s entire body shuddered, but it wasn’t from the rain or the chill of the wind. No, the fire inside kept him too warm to mind those. “Galahd.” Nyx repeated. 

“Get away from him.” Libertus shouted suddenly, apparently just noticing Pelna’s presence. He bodily picked Pelna up and moved him a couple steps back before releasing him. 

He heard Pelna and Libertus having an argument, but the rain drowned out their words. Then Libertus was on the phone and Pelna took it over. He started to approach Nyx and Libertus immediately pulled him back. “Get back here!”

Pelna fell back against Libertus, but the phone slipped from his hands and flew through the air to land in the mud facing Nyx. Crowe’s profile picture stared at him along with the few minutes that they had been talking.

“Not till the storms over.” Libertus said as he glanced at the sky. “He’s been hit by enough Astral damned lightning, no need to tempt fate with you too.”

“I was hit by lightning.” Nyx furrowed his eyebrows and continued to stare at Crowe’s picture.

He _was_ dead. He _is_ alive. He was struck by lightning, probably killed by it too.

But no. No, he was killed by the Lucii as payment for their power. The power he was now apparently double paying for, but this time for a life of servitu… for a life. For a Fucking Life.

Anger ignited in Nyx, fiery hot. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” He shouted up at the sky. “I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!”

If he had the ring of the Lucii, he would have gladly thrown it in the mud where it could never be found again. Those fuckers had brought him back to fucking life. He was to pay this debt with a _life_ of servitude, and well, how could the dead pay with a life they didn’t possess? So they gave him a life.

Astral Fucking damn it.

As if in response to his outburst, there was a sharp crack of thunder and then the smell of burning mud as lightning stuck the land near Nyx, frying Libertus’ phone. Several Lucian and Galahdans scrambled further away from him. 

As if that was Ramuh’s last thought on the matter, the storm winded down. The rain turned to a drizzle and then stopped. The lightning still flashed, but it no longer struck. The thunder was a low quiet rumble.

“My phone.” Libertus said at the same time someone else repeated, “Not Natural.” Nyx could feel people’s gazes fixed on him. 

No, he thought. No, there was absolutely nothing natural about any of this. Stupid. Astrals.

Pelna marched forward, slipping easily out of Libertus’ grip now that he was staring at the small crater where the phone had once been. 

Pelna squatted down next to him, and after only a moment of hesitation, clasped his shoulder. Several people gasped, but nothing happened. No lightning struck; no flames flared up… nothing. He smiled at Nyx, a calming supportive smile.

Libertus clasped his other shoulder, and Nyx looked up, startled. “Hey, Hero.” Libertus said, his gaze weary, but warm despite the loss of his phone. “Now that the storms over, let’s get you home.”

Home.

The word tasted bittersweet in his mouth. It sounded bittersweet too. 

Home was a Galahd that looked like this one but wasn’t. Because _his_ Galahd was done, destroyed by the Empire in a way that this one apparently wasn’t. Home was the ruins of Insomnia, his leader and friend dead by his hand. His comrade’s bodies littering the streets. 

“Where am I?” Nyx whispered again, more to himself this time than to Libertus or Pelna. Neither the fire nor the storm answered him. 

Pelna and Libertus exchanged a long look. “Galahd.” Libertus finally broke the silence, replying the same Pelna had when asked the same question. 

Nyx closed his eyes, and bit back the bitter words of ‘not mine’. 

He was alive. Galahd was fine. Crowe, Pelna, and Libertus were alive. Galahd wasn’t destroyed. His sister was alive. Galahd was still standing. 

Was this the Astral’s idea of a cruel joke? Had he been tossed back in time? No. No, he couldn’t have been because he and Libertus met Pelna AFTER joining the Glaives… and that happened AFTER Galahd fell.

“_’For Hearth and Home.’_” Nyx parroted, more out of habit than any real loyalty to the words. They tasted sour on his tongue, like ash and smoke and blood. Like betrayal. The magic burned through his veins, singing to him, and he wondered once again where the hell he was.

~

Nyx stared at his reflection in the mirror, unable to believe that the man reflected was truly him. 

He leaned in closer to the mirror and brushed still shaking fingers over the silvery white marks on his younger looking face. As if being younger wasn’t enough of a shock, his black tattoos were all gone; replaced by silver white shadows that still felt vaguely warm to the touch.

It looked like someone had taken powder white ash and drawn the traditional tattoos upon his skin, except nothing smudged or moved when he wiped at a mark. No wonder Selena had stared at him like he was a ghost.

Then again, that might have been because he apparently came back to life… in more ways than one it seemed. Not that she knew that.

He hadn’t exactly stuck around to talk to her either. He wasn’t ready to see her, to face her. 

_“Nyx! Get mother!” _Her voice continued to echo in his ears, the last thing she had said to him. He gripped the sink and bowed his head, unwilling to continue to look at the reflection. 

“What happened?” Nyx whispered, desperately wishing he had some answers. He had a sinking suspicion that until he could get his hands on the Ring of the Lucii, he wouldn’t be getting any.

He inhaled sharply and turned away from the mirror. He had a shower to take.

~

“How is he?” Pelna asked as Libertus made his way over to sit across from him. Not far from them, Selena made herself busy in the kitchen, although she glanced over at them when Pelna spoke. 

“In the shower.” Libertus replied. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Of course he’s not fine.” Selena snapped, slamming a pot down on the new stove Nyx had gotten her before wincing and looking to the hallway. For a moment she had looked as fierce as the Coeurls that her family was said to be descended down, the Coeurls that her family was known to hunt. 

“Of course he’s not fine.” She repeated, quieter this time. “He’s Bonded.” The last bit was spoken in a barely audible whisper of equal parts horror and awe.

A shiver ran down Pelna’s spine. Of course, out of all the Galahdans, it would be an _Ulric_ who was Bonded.

Libertus gave her a flat look. “Bull.”

She returned his look with an equally flat look. “He died and came back. Like the legends say; he’s Bonded.”

“Ramuh hasn’t Bonded with anyone in,” Pelna paused, trying to do the math, but the truth was that he didn’t truly know when the last time had been. There were rumors and legends – funnily enough, Pelna knew at least two of which that featured Nyx’s ancestors – but there was never anything concrete. “Well, forever.”

Until now, because Pelna was more than willing to make a bet that Nyx was Bonded. 

Both Libertus and Selena gave him a _look_. Selena went as far as to forcibly put a mug down in front of him. Well, Pelna could take a hint. He hurriedly picked the mug up and pressed the rim to his lips. 

When an _Ulric_ said ‘jump’, a Galahdan asked ‘how high’. If one said ‘drink this mug to keep quiet’ then one drank the mug and kept quiet. He hadn’t reached the same _family_ status like Libertus had… yet.

“Legends! You said it yourself, Lena. Legends! He’s not Bonded.”

“Who’s not Bonded?” Pelna choked on his tea and spun around – quicker than Libertus and Selena who had both paled and slow turned – to look at Nyx in the entrance of the doorway. 

Pelna had noticed before, but there was something unmistakably _different_ about Nyx. It was evident in the way he stood, and the way his gaze flickered over each of them – lingering on Selena the longest, and Libertus the shortest. 

Pelna squinted. Libertus had said Nyx was showering, and his hair was damp and tussled like he had dried it hurriedly with a towel. So why were there still small white spots of ash on his… no. Those were… Galahdan markings. 

Honor, glory, pain, mourning. Pelna’s gaze went to each and every one as he recognized them. What in the…?

Nyx raised an eyebrow as he waited for a response. Or perhaps he was raising his eyebrow because of them staring at his face. Like, Pelna had noticed the marks in the rain, but there was mud and soot and ash everywhere, so of course he had thought…

“It’s nothing.” Selena said before Pelna could fully consider breaking the silence. “How do you feel?” She approached her brother and pulled his face down to her height and examined him. Pelna could tell by the tenseness of her shoulders and posture that she too had noticed the new markings on Nyx.

Nyx seemed tense, like a coil ready to spring. Or a Coeurl ready to pounce.

“Fine.” Nyx replied, taking a step back away from his sister. His gaze was wary, uncertain. It was a strange look for their team leader. Nyx was almost always confident, always sure. This uncertainty was unnerving.

Behind him, Libertus choked on his breath. Nyx didn’t pull away from family, especially his sister. Not after their mother’s death just a year ago.

There was something _uncomfortable_ about Nyx. Something that reminded Pelna all too much of the sensation one felt when they went out into the Jungle and stumbled upon one of the Coeurls. If this kept up, he might actually put stock in the whole ‘_Ulrics_ have Coeurl blood in them’ legend.

Selena was right. Completely and totally right. If Nyx wasn’t Bonded, then Pelna would eat his shoe. The question was to which Astral, but even that was a no brainer. Galahdan, an Ulric, and struck by lightning? 

Ramuh.

And wasn’t that going to be interesting? To have Ramuh’s _personal _messenger on the field of battle… If Galahd allowed him to leave. The council of Elders hadn’t been thrilled when Nyx answered the call of the King and left before, but now that he was Ramuh’s personal messenger, well… that changed things.

And what of the Galahdans in the Glaive? What of those who had only joined not from loyalty to the crown, but from loyalty to an _Ulric_ – the closest thing to a king of Galahd that they had? 

“What happened?” Selena asked. Pelna leaned forward, just as curious as her in Nyx’s response.

Nyx’s gaze flickered between her and Pelna. “Not sure.” He replied quickly. Nyx side stepped his sister, eyeing her like he thought _she_ was the Coeurl in the room. He paused once he passed her and then frowned at Pelna. “Was hoping one of you could tell me.”

“You were hit by lightning on the Walk.” Libertus said. Pelna looked back at him to see that his eyes were sharp, gaze trained on Nyx. 

Everyone liked to joke about how Libertus wasn’t much of anything. He was a senior Glaive, but he wasn’t the _best_. He wasn’t a Mage like Crowe, or a Hero like Nyx. He couldn’t warp well or fight well or use magic well. 

But he was smart when he needed to be. He noticed things, things that sometimes even slipped under Pelna’s notice. Sometimes Pelna thought that Libertus should have been Technical Support, like Pelna. Available for the field when needed, but mostly behind coms and information.

Except Libertus needed to be on the field to _see_. He couldn’t just take data in and see the correlation. He needed to be _there_ to understand.

Pelna envied that… sometimes.

Nyx froze at the information, a look passing over his face too quick for Pelna to interpret. Libertus’ lips pursed, his eyes narrowed, and Pelna could see that he had caught something that Pelna hadn’t.

Then again, it was hard to keep an eye on two people. Three, if one considered Selena who was watching wordlessly at the hallway entrance.

“Probably explains my fuzzy memories.” Nyx said, and Pelna grimaced, thinking back to Nyx repeatedly asking where he was before he screamed at the skies and made it stop raining.

… yeah, more points in the favor of him being Ramuh’s Bonded.

“Fuzzy memories?” Selena repeated. “Do you know who—”

“You’re my sister.” Nyx replied quickly. He looked around the kitchen and then refocused on her. “Where’s mother?”

Everyone but Nyx flinched at the question. “Oh, Nyx.” Selena sighed. “Mother… well… she passed last year.” 

Nyx seemed to chew that over. He stared at the kitchen; his gaze fixed on the stove. He tapped his finger against his leg, a nervous tick that Pelna was relieved to notice – if only because it meant some things were still the same. 

“But _you’re alive_.” Nyx finally said, his voice heavy with an emotion that Pelna couldn’t place. Was it relief? Concern? Love? A combination of them? Something else that Pelna didn’t understand? Why was he asking for verification for something he could obviously see?

Selena was alive, standing right there. Libertus was alive, Pelna was alive. The only one in the room who had died was _Nyx_, so why was he acting like they were the dead?

Selena looked as uncomfortable as Pelna felt. She shifted uneasily, her skirts swaying as she moved. 

“Yes.”

Nyx nodded once and then turned his gaze to the limited view of the village outside the windows. “Galahd is fine.”

“As fine as it’s ever been.” Libertus replied more than a little sharply. Selena shot him a look before she cleared her throat and headed over the kitchen, presumably to fix Nyx a mug of tea. 

Like Nyx, she liked to do something with her hands when anxious or nervous. Not that there was anything to be nervous about. Just her brother, back from the dead, possibly Bonded to an Astral. All was perfectly fine and normal here.

All was quiet except for the quiet tinks of Selena’s work. Nyx watched her a moment, before breaking the relative silence. “And I’m in the Kingsglaive.”

“Astrals, how fuzzy are your memories?” Libertus snapped. “Do I need to go have a talk with them.”

“You wouldn’t like it: they won’t listen.” Nyx replied too quickly, the tapping against his leg picking up in pace. 

Pelna’s breath was caught in his throat. That was basically an admission of having spoken to the Astrals. Of having done something only the Oracle, Lucis line, messengers, and _Bonded_ could do. Astrals, Nyx was a _Bonded_. He was Bonded, and no wonder he was acting weird. People always get weird when Astrals got involved.

Libertus seemed similarly tripped up by Nyx’s words.

“You _are_ the Stormsender’s Bonded.” Selena gasped. Libertus groaned and dropped his head into his hands, muttering something about nightmares. Maybe about how this was a _living_ one.

Nyx quirked an eyebrow. “Never said that.” He replied easily. “But let’s say I _was…_ what would that entail?”

There was a solid thunk from behind Pelna, and a quick glance confirmed that it was from Libertus’ head hitting the table. 

“It would be up to the Elders, of course.” Selena started slowly, eyeing her brother like she was _finally_ catching on to the fact that there was something more than a little _weird_ about Nyx. Beyond the whole ‘fuzzy’ memories and un-dying thing.

“Of course.” Nyx replied with more ease than Pelna could ever recall him having when discussing _Elders_. 

Selena blinked, clearly as taken by surprise at Nyx’s ease as Pelna was. She cleared her throat again. “And then well, you would be expected to stay in Galahd to convene with the Stormsender.”

Something akin to annoyance passed behind Nyx’s eyes. It was a look Pelna was familiar with if only because it usually meant trouble while on a mission. It was the look of Nyx trying to think of how to get past an obstacle that most _sane_ people would not bother with. But Nyx was a _Hero_, and as such, his sanity was very much in question.

But as concerning as the look was, it was equally concerning that Nyx considered _staying in Galahd_ an obstacle. Nyx _loved_ Galahd. He often boasted of it to his fellow Glaives – the majority of which came from the outer regions of Lucis. He talked about retiring and opening a bar with Libertus here, of getting a family and a home once the war was over.

The hand not taping against his leg curled into a fist, and released. Nyx smiled at his sister and leaned against the counter, watching her with a quiet sort of danger that once again made Pelna think of Coeurls.

…Okay, yeah, no, Pelna was suddenly very understanding of where that legend came from and why it was so widely believed. That was it, no more questioning legends for Pelna. All legends, no matter how crazy they seemed, were now undoubtably real for Pelna. Especially if they involved an Ulric.

The _Ulrics_ had Coeurl blood in them, and Nyx was Bonded.

Selena’s gaze flickered between the tea and Nyx, part of her clearly registering that Nyx was a threat. Not an aggressive threat, but a threat non-the-less. He was something to be watched, to be wary of. Maybe he wasn’t aggressive, but that didn’t make him any less _dangerous_.

“I would do Galahd more good out in the world.” He argued.

“That’s why you joined the Glaive.” She reminded him with a tight expression that spoke of her disapproval. She had never supported him leaving, but he had insisted. “Maybe this is the Stormsender’s way of calling you home.”

There it was again: that flicker of annoyance. 

“Right.” Nyx stood up. “You know, I still have a bit of a headache from earlier… I think I’m going to go lay down.”

He turned and headed back down the darkened hallway, everyone quietly watching him go. Pelna let out a sigh, tension easing out of him as Nyx’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter.

“Was anyone else unnerved, or was it just me?” He asked, spinning around in his chair so he could observe both Selena and Libertus. Both were still staring at the hallway Nyx had disappeared down. 

“I think…” Libertus started only to trail off. He continued to stare down the hallway before shaking his head. “I think,” He repeated, “that Nyx staying in Galahd isn’t a good idea.” 

Pelna couldn’t say he disagreed. 

“Should we call Drautos?” Libertus asked him after a second.

“Would that be wise?” Selena asked, her gaze still fixed on the hallway like she thought Nyx would reappear. “Considering he’s…”

“If it’s discovered he’s still alive, he’ll be considered a deserter and traitor. It needs to be called in.” Pelna said, but made no movements. “There were Lucians at the clinic.”

“The Council…” Selena started to protest.

“We could wait till after their ruling?” Libertus suggested before sighing and resting his head in his hands. 

Pelna mirrored him. “This is a mess.”

~

It had been over fifteen years since Nyx last stepped into his childhood room. It was different from how he remembered it, but then again, he had spent the last fifteen years in a small studio apartment that was less apartment and more like an over-glorified dorm room in the heart of Insomnia’s immigrant district.

Of course, it felt surreal to be standing in what was supposed to be his room. Just as everything about this experience thus far had been surreal. It was like a dream and a nightmare all combined into one twisted mess. 

He had _dreamed_ of returning to Galahd someday. Of restoring it back to its former glory and then settling down with a bar that he managed with Libertus. But the idea of returning to Galahd like _this_, well, it had been unthinkable.

This wasn’t _returning_ Galahd. At least, not the Galahd that he had known. This was a different Galahd, a Galahd untouched by the war waging between Lucis and Nifleheim except for Galahdans who had left for the Kingsglaive. This was a Galahd where his sister was still alive, and his house still stood.

This wasn’t his Galahd any more than this was _his_ room.

And it was his room. It was the second door down the hall, with his name carved into the wood of the door. There were things that he recognized as his on the walls and in the room: a set of ceremonial kukris crossed on the wall in honor of his father, a Coeurl pelt laying on the bed, a couple of books that he vaguely recalled having before the Empire came and burned all this down to the ground.

He crossed the room in only a few short strides so that he was standing before the Kukris and reached out to run his hand across one of the blades.

He had never been able to recover them after the Empire came through, burning and destroying his homeland. He had left Galahd with only the clothes on his back, and only one of the Kukris from his set still functional. He had another one made in Insomnia.

A perfect fit for him, considering he had started to consider Insomnia his home just as he had Galahd. It wasn’t Galahd; wasn’t the wild and nature and storms. It wasn’t the sense of community and belonging. But Galahd was gone, and all they had left was Insomnia. 

Some of them resented that, but Nyx? He was an Ulric, and Ulrics adapted. Besides, being in Insomnia gave him the best chance at striking back against those who dared to harm Galahd in the first place. 

Speaking of his Kukris…

They were sitting on the nightstand, not too far from him. Well, one of them was. The other was the _proper_ match and was as unfamiliar to Nyx as the situation. 

Galahd never fell, he never broke his kukri, and thus never needed to commission a new partner for his existing one. It didn’t make the loss of the blade any less painful for him. It had been with him through far more than this blade had, and now he knew, from experience, there was a flaw in the blade that wasn’t present in its partner.

A flaw that, in another life, cost him the life of his sister. 

He turned away from the kukris, forcing himself to ignore the roll of anger in his gut as he continued to look around the room. There was a calendar on the wall above a desk, and he frowned at the date on it: M.E. 752-II. This… this couldn’t be right. Galahd fell in 743. 

He stumbled back until the back of his legs hit his bed, and he sunk down onto it, cradling his head in his hands. What kind of life had the Lucii dropped him into? Why had he been _placed_ here? What purpose was he supposed to serve?

He groaned, and fell back on the bed, only to sit back up as he hit something unexpected. He twisted around and dug through the pelts and blankets to find a small sleek tablet. Was this… his?

Well, even if it wasn’t, it was exactly what he needed. With this, he could research all the history and knowledge of this new strange world that he had woken up in. His excuse of a ‘fuzzy memory’ would only work for so much.

And it was clear that the whole ‘_Bonded’_ thing was an important thing. An important thing that they thought was affecting him. And maybe it was, considering he had come back from the dead into the body of a version of him from an alternative history.

…

Yeah, he was going to avoid rethinking that for a while.

He tapped his hand against his leg for a moment before powering the tablet, only to groan as a passcode prompt flashed on the screen. 

Just his luck that he had been paranoid about keeping his stuff protected. He should have expected as much. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself. This was fine. He had set the password, or at least, another version of him had – the thought was still weird – so he should be able to guess the passcode easily, right?

~

He gave up after an hour and the tablet flashed a warning about deleting all data if he kept trying. He didn’t know what exactly was on the device, so it was a risk and a gamble he didn’t feel like taking. 

~

Nyx flipped another page in the history book, grimacing at all the obvious propaganda. He had picked it up in hopes that it explained some of the differences of this world to him, and well, it hadn’t let him down so far.

But that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

He had been reading ever since giving up on the tablet, and well, it hadn’t been in vain. It seemed that there were a lot of differences between this world and his, the most glaring of which being that Mors had not pulled back the Wall.

Which explained why Galahd still stood, but didn’t explain the existence of the Kingsglaive or why Nyx had joined. Selena said he joined to do Galahd good, but that didn’t make any sense to him. _He_ joined because he owed Regis. 

He couldn’t find an answer to that, but he did discover what being _Bonded_ meant and why everyone had been so weird about it. Honestly, it was as bad as Nyx thought it might be.

Apparently _Bonding_ was considered something of a myth and legend for how rare it was. The Astrals _Bonded_ with a person, granting them their power, but in exchange, the person basically became the Astrals personal Messenger. Because apparently the 24 that already existed according to Cosmogony wasn’t enough.

It was believed that the Lucis Caelum line was Bonded, but there was never any proof of this beyond their magical prowess and might.

Knowing what Nyx knew of the Lucii and the Astrals, he would honestly be more surprised if they _weren’t_ Bonded. 

The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, the light slowly crawling into his room through the window… and he hadn’t slept a wink. Stupid tablet. Stupid Lucii. Stupid Astrals.

They couldn’t have at least given him memories of whatever Nyx had been here before? Because clearly there had been a Nyx of some kind. Also, what had happened to that Nyx? He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

There was a soft knock at the door before it was slowly opened. It gave Nyx just enough time to slid the book under a pillow before Pelna stuck his head through. Pelna smiled, presumably at the sight of Nyx draped dramatically over the bed. Nyx peaked at him through one eye and dramatically groaned. 

Pelna snorted and carefully stepped in. Amusement was written on his face, but his eyes remained sharp and wary. 

Clearly something about Nyx was setting him off. Nyx had noticed it in the kitchen, even when he had tried to act nonchalant and normal. 

“Good to know you’re still dramatic.” Pelna commented softly. 

“Mmmm.” Nyx replied intelligently. He sat up, and knocked the stupid Astrals-damned tablet to the ground. It stared up at the ceiling, the warning about it being wiped flashing on the screen. Pelna stared down at it for a second before kneeling and picking it up. 

“Fuzzy memories?” Pelna asked. 

Nyx did not wince or react to the minor lie he had given them. It was needed, especially since this world was clearly different than the one Nyx remembered. 

“I was struck by lightning.” Nyx replied with a shrug. He didn’t need to add that he had technically and apparently _died_. 

Ah yes, finally something he and this world’s Nyx apparently held in common.

“I could probably get into it for you.” Pelna suggested slowly, like he thought Nyx might bite his head off for the suggestion. 

“Better than me wiping it.” He paused and then after a moment added, “What’s up?”

“The council’s over.” Pelna looked up from the tablet as he announced the information. “News of your… return spread quickly.”

“They think I’m Bonded.” Nyx guessed with a barely contained sigh. He hadn’t expected the council to move so fast on this, or on anything really. They hadn’t in _Old_ Galahd. It was one of the reasons there were so few Elders in Little Galahd in the Refugee district of Insomnia.

“It’s a big deal… you’re, well, you know, you.” Good to know that was still the same. Like Nyx needed all those expectations. “And now with you being the Fulgurian’s Bonded...” Pelna trailed off, shifting uneasily. 

Nyx snorted, and once again curled his hand into a fist. He could feel the magic, the burn of _fire_. 

“Not Ramuh.” At least, he was pretty sure it wasn’t Ramuh. He knew that Ramuh had been fighting over him with another… and by process of elimination and the fact FIRE was involved, he could guess it was Ifrit.

He hadn’t performed a Walk since Galahd fell, and he never fully forgave the storm for abandoning Galahd. The Storm might run through his veins still, but so did Fire and Magic. And he _knew_ he was Bonded; the Lucii had suggested it and Drums – Bahamut – had confirmed it. 

Pelna blinked at him. “What.”

Nyx stretched as he stood, reaching his hands for the ceiling and then headed over to where he found clothes the night before. “No need to talk to the Elders then, right?” He asked, as he stripped away his shirt. 

He heard Pelna’s sharp gasp, and looked down to frown at all the ashy white scars that Ifrit had been so kind to sear into him. 

He pulled on a new shirt, and heard Pelna clear his throat. “That explains that.”

“Explains what?” Nyx asked, looking over his shoulder. Pelna was resolutely staring at the wall where the Calendar sat with it’s circled ‘home’ days.

“A lot, actually.” Pelna shrugged. “Like, the Stormsender’s… anger at you.”

Nyx snorted and rolled his eyes. While Pelna was looking away, he also changed out his clothes, and sat down on the bed to pull on a spare pair of boots. He grimaced as he stood, realizing very quickly why these boots didn’t look like they had been touched.

Unbroken boots, great. Well, he’d fix that. 

“He’ll deal.” Nyx said as he approached Pelna, intent on leaving the room. Pelna’s gaze snapped back to him. 

“Do you have no fear?” 

_“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing, and losing everything.” _ He closed his eyes for a second as Luna’s words echoed in his head at Pelna’s question. He could imagine her sitting in the seat beside him, her body fighting the jerky movements of the dropship as she delivered the line. 

He hadn’t really thought much about her before the ordeal, but, she had really impressed him by the time it was over.

At the thought of her, of what happened to Insomnia, the magic in his veins sung to him. He curled a fist and forced it back down. 

It didn’t go back down. If anything, it spread out under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch, pulling and tugging at him. He shoved down his irritation at it and instead forced himself to focus on Pelna. 

“I already died.” Nyx replied, meeting Pelna’s gaze steadily. “What is there to fear?”

~

Libertus sat at the table, resisting the urge to fidget or go check on Pelna. Pelna was a big boy, he could handle any problems himself. And besides, it was _Nyx._ Bonded or not, there was probably nothing to be concerned about.

Probably.

And that was the thing. The thing that crawled under Libertus’ skin and refused to be removed no matter how hard he scratched. 

Nyx was his _best friend_. Yet the man who had stood in the kitchen with Nyx’s face and silvery white marks had not been him. Similar, but different in a way that Libertus couldn’t put his finger on. 

Nyx exited the hallway without Pelna and stopped dead – too soon, it was too soon for that – at the sight of the Elders crowded into the main room. Nyx’s mouth twisted the way it always did whenever he didn’t like what he was seeing, which was a bit of a relief to see considering that Nyx still carried himself in a way that put Libertus on edge.

He lowered his head, his chin covering the jugular of his neck, like he was threatened by the Elder’s presence. Which was also standard Nyx behavior. He had never gotten along with them since his parents passed, and relations had only grown worse when Nyx chose to leave Galahd for Insomnia to answer the King’s plea for able bodied soldiers.

Not many Galahdans had answered the call, and of those that had, had done so because an _Ulric_ had. The Elders had never been happy at Nyx for that. 

Libertus was just happy that his grandfather wasn’t among the elders gathered today. The old man always had an issue with Nyx, and he expected nothing short of hostilities now. 

One of the elders noticed Nyx and smiled in a way Libertus hadn’t seen directed at Nyx since Nyx was a child. “Nyx Ulric, son of—”

“Cut it.” Nyx interrupted, which was a first. He never really got along with the Elders, but he had always respected them. _Ulric_ blood was old blood, but even they bowed to the decisions of the Council <strike>most of the time</strike>. “I’m not Bonded to Ramuh.”

There was twist to Nyx’s mouth when he said the Stormsender’s name, like it left a foul taste on his tongue. Then, like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on the Elders, Nyx side stepped around Selena and grabbed an apple from the kitchen. 

“What do you mean you aren’t Bonded to the Stormsender?” The Elder who had spoken before demanded. 

Pelna exited the hallway, looking between Nyx and the Elders with a look of despair strong enough to tell Libertus that he already knew that Nyx wasn’t Bonded to Ramuh. Did he know who Nyx was Bonded to?

Or were they all wrong and Nyx _wasn’t_ Bonded?

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Nyx replied before biting into the fruit. “So you can leave my house.” He gave the group of Elders a look, one that Libertus had seen scatter previously vicious wildlife. They knew the look of danger, and so did Libertus and apparently everyone in the room.

“Nyx!” That was apparently enough to snap Selena out of her shock. She didn’t physically assault him, but it was a damn near thing. 

Nyx leaned against the counter to stare at her in a move and way that was so _Nyx_, it hurt. For a second, Libertus could pretend that all was fine. Nyx had just said something insensitive and his sister was going to scold some sense into him. 

“They’re here because they think I’m Bonded to Ramuh.” Nyx said slowly, like he was speaking to a child or invalid. “I’m not, so they don’t need to be here.” 

He gave a significant look to Libertus – the look that reminded Libertus of why exactly Nyx was both a leader in the Glaive and Galahd – and then stick the apple in his mouth, grabbed his Glaive jacket and strolled out the door of the house.

Pelna looked between the Elders, Selena, and Libertus before heading to the door to pull on his own boots and follow Nyx out. Libertus looked at Selena, heaved a heavy sigh, and offered her a weak smile. 

“Stay strong.” He advised her, resting a hand on her shoulder before following after the other two.

He caught up with them at the edge of Galahd – Nyx was clearly wasting no time in his escape, although where did he think he was escaping to? – and grabbed Nyx by the elbow, ignoring Pelna’s squeaked protest. “The hells wrong with you?” Libertus demanded. 

“I _died_.” Nyx snapped, and Libertus – as well as Galahdans who were not so subtly watching nearby – froze. “I _died._” Despite being repeated, the words still carried weight. Libertus was suddenly reminded that while this was Nyx, his best friend, this was also a Nyx that was _different_. 

“Libertus.” Pelna whispered, his tone urgent. The smell of something burning filled Libertus’ nose, but he couldn’t look away from Nyx, from the fire and anger and what looked suspiciously like _magic_ in his eyes.

“And you all think I’m _Bonded _to Ramuh, like I _owe him my life.” _Nyx laughed, the sound bitter and strange to Libertus’ ears, like the arid smoke and char that filled Libertus’ nose. Nyx had never had a problem with Ramuh before… Nyx’s mouth twisted again, like it had when he saw the Elders. “_I don’t owe him shit.” _

Nyx yanked his arm out of Libertus’ hold, the apple he had been holding nothing more than a smoky ball of ash and char that broke apart in Nyx’s hands. Libertus stared at the apple – or more accurately the charred broken remains that had fallen to the ground. 

He looked up at Nyx to see a similarly startled and surprised expression on his face. Pelna cleared his throat. “You’re… uh… still on fire.” He pointed out, and sure enough, Nyx’s hand was still engulfed in the flames that had destroyed the apple.

Nyx’s eyes darkened in agitation as he clenched his hand in an attempt to kill the flames.

Normally when they – they, in this case being a normal, unBonded Glaive – summoned fire to their hand, just clenching their hand into a fist was all that was needed to extinguish the flame. However, Nyx was not a normal, unBonded Glaive anymore. 

The fire persisted. The twist in Nyx’s mouth grew more pronounced.

“Astrals.” He muttered. He shook his hand – something that was heavily not recommended if only because Drautos was tired of getting accidently set on fire – and nothing happened.

Nyx took a deep breath, clenched his fist – ignoring the fire – and turned on his heel. “Fucking Astrals.” He muttered before he looked up at the sky and shouted, “I didn’t ask for this!” The skies did not reply. Which Libertus took to be a good sign since the Stormsender was apparently _not_ Nyx’s Bonded.

Nyx snarled a particularly nasty Galahdan curse and turned on his heel, marching out of town. Neither Pelna nor Libertus made any move to follow after him, and soon enough he had disappeared into the jungle.

“He’s going to set the jungle on fire.” Pelna whispered, horror slowly dawning on his face. “He’s going to set the jungle on fire!” Libertus didn’t get a chance to tell him to stop before Pelna took off after him. He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face before following.

~

Nyx hadn’t been thinking when he left. Not when he left the house or when he left town or when he left Pelna and Libertus behind. There had just been this steady mantra of ‘move, move, move’ in his head. This feeling of being tugged and pulled and yanked. 

The magic was exhausting, not just in how it burned through him – although the sensation was steadily fading into the background – but also in how it kept tugging at him. It was also tiring emotionally. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… he wasn’t even sure how to properly explain it. 

Wired was the closest thing he could think of, but there was this undercurrent of irritation that just simmered under his skin, waiting for the perfect moment to explode and _tug _at him and the magic.

He hadn’t been able to extinguish the flames that had burned the apple. No, what had finally ended up extinguishing the fire was him dunking his hand into the river. 

There were seadevils quite a bit upstream from him, but he didn’t think they would be any problem. They were far away enough that he had to squint to see them, and a majority of them were out of the water, basking in the sunlight with their jaws wide open. 

He was still at the river when Pelna and Libertus found him some time later. He had made himself at home, sitting on one of the few rocks in the middle of the river that were large and flat enough for him to comfortably sit on with his feet dangling in the water. 

“You’re in the river.” Pelna stated, barely audible over the rushing water of the river. Nyx inclined his head.

“I’m in the river.” He confirmed.

“I told you he wasn’t going to burn the jungle down.” Libertus said, although the waver in his tone suggested that although he said it, he hadn’t really believed it. It was good to know that either a) this Nyx didn’t have Libertus’ full trust or that b) _he_ didn’t have Libertus’ full trust.

Or maybe it wasn’t trust at all, but faith.

Thinking about it, he probably wouldn’t have faith in him either. After all, as far as they were concerned, he was their friend back from the dead with ‘fuzzy memories’ and suddenly Bonded to an Astral with mood swings to match. 

As if triggered by his thoughts, that irritating tug pulled at him again and he slipped into the water before he could randomly combust… again. Both Pelna and Libertus yelled from the shoreline.

It was a short swim to the shore, but it was more than long enough for the irritation to dull and dim back down to a low simmer. While it was fine now, he had a sinking suspicion that unless he headed wherever the tug wanted him to go, things were only going to get worse and worse.

And he had another sinking suspicion that he knew _exactly_ where it was that he was to go: Insomnia. The Crown City of Lucis and the seat of power for the Lucii. The Lucii, who Nyx now owed his life to.

…Fuck the Lucii.

Pelna was eyeing him warily and Libertus looked like he swallowed a lemon. Nyx sighed and _tried_ to make a joke, “I’m a water heater, apparently,” only for it to fall flat. 

“Ifrit.” Libertus muttered or perhaps cursed. “You’re Bonded to Ifrit.”

Embers – Ifrit – won the argument against Ramuh; that much was very clear to Nyx. Between the fire and the irritation – although the irritation could have just as easily been a Lucii thing – it was painfully obvious who he was Bonded to.

Perhaps it was for the best that he had gotten Bonded to the Astral that hated humans the most. Less talking with Astrals involved.

“It’s not like I asked for it.” Nyx shrugged as he pulled himself out of the water.

“We got that.” Pelna commented dryly. He pointed to his face, and made a gesture. “You got some mud… right here, oh it’s already dry.” He took a step forward and moved like he was going to poke Nyx’s face but poked Nyx’s hair at the last moment instead. “That’s… useful?”

“Annoying.” Nyx corrected, rubbing at his face where he thought the dried mud might be. “Everything about this is annoying.”

“Useful.” Libertus repeated Pelna and re-corrected Nyx. “Think of how much time you’ll save showering in the mornings.”

“If I’m annoyed!”

“So it’s emotion based.” Pelna nodded, and grabbed his chin as he studied Nyx. “Okay, okay. We might be able to work with this…” He looked at Libertus. “Think we can turn him into a human heater for tea? Just hand him the cup, annoying him a bit, and boom: instant tea.”

“Tea?” Libertus repeated, looking reasonably offended at the idea. But not for Nyx’s sake, no. He was offended that it was _tea_ instead of alcohol. Good to know where his priorities were. “No way in hell I’m selling _tea_!”

“You two are insufferable.” 

“We try.” Pelna replied with a smile that more than a little tight. “Let’s get you back home.”

Home.

Six, Nyx hated that word. Home meant so many things. At one point it meant Galahd with it’s winding river and luscious jungle and the village and Walks and his _family_. But then Galahd _burned_, and home changed.

Home became the walls of Insomnia, the sneers of the Insomnians as they looked down upon the refugees. Home became Little Galahd in Insomnia’s refugee/immigrant district and the Kingsglaive barracks. 

And now? Nyx wasn’t even sure what _home_ was now. 

~

Nyx toweled off his hair as he exited the bathroom, and draped his towel across his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what made him stop just before exiting the hallway, but he did. 

“We should tell the captain.” Pelna’s voice carried easily from the living area into the hallway. “The Lucians probably already reported it.”

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Libertus replied, his tone dry. “And what do we say? Oh, I know we said Nyx was dead, but he’s alive now, and totally Bonded to fucking Ifrit—”

“There’s no proof of that.” Selena interrupted.

“Apple.” Pelna replied. “It turned to _ash_.” 

Nyx took a deep breath and willed himself not to repeat the incident Pelna was talking about it. 

“He’s back, the jungle is safe, everyone’s safe, and there’s no proof that the fire came from… _him_. The king’s magic gave Nyx control over fire before.” Selena tried to reason, but Nyx knew better. He knew better and both Pelna and Libertus knew better. 

“Not like that, Lena.” Libertus disagreed. “Six, we should tell the captain.”

Nyx closed his eyes and tried to count backwards from ten, but it didn’t help the irritation that just seemed to build every time they said ‘captain’. The magic that burned through his veins _sung_ at the thought of the captain, of Drautos, of _Glauca. _Perhaps this wasn’t the same magic that had tasted his blood before, but it seemed just as thirsty for it.

“That’s what I said.” Pelna complained halfhearted. 

“It’s going to be a nightmare.” Libertus sighed. 

Nyx didn’t want to hear anymore. He swiftly and quietly headed back to his room and pulled back on his boots and outer gear before grabbing _one_ of his kukris off the table. He still wasn’t ready for the actual partner of this one. Not when he had known it with an Insomnian partner for so long.

One for the past, one for the future. Although which was past and which was future was interchangeable, the lines blurring. No, not for past and future, but for his two _homes_. Galahd and Insomnia. 

They had their ups and they had their downs, but in the end, they were both _home_. 

“For hearth and home.” He muttered as he turned the blade towards himself and slashed upwards. The magic reacted instantly, hiding him from sight as he ducked out of the house through one of the windows.

Maybe he didn’t need to sneak out of the house, but he didn’t really feel like he had any other choice. If he left the normal way, they – Libertus and Pelna, and maybe even his sister – would follow and that was just something he wasn’t in the mood for.

No. He just needed… space. He had to repeat the trick a few more times to avoid various Galahdans, but before long he was safe in the jungle – if one could be considered safe in the jungles of Galahd. He leaned against one of the trees and took a deep breath before giving a sigh of relief.

Alone. 

He avoided the trails on his way up to the only haven in Galahd, but he didn’t need the trails to find his way. He spent half of his life on Galahd, and even if this wasn’t the same Galahd as the one he knew, it was similar enough.

It was a bit of a climb to reach the haven, but the view – in Nyx’s very correct opinion – was well worth the trouble. He hauled himself on top of the haven and took another deep breath as he looked out across the canyon, the village, and the island. The stars shined above him, barely visible from beyond the Wall. Down below, he could see various lights in the main part of the village turn on and off. 

It was humbling being up here, looking down upon it all. It reminded him of happier times; better times. When everything seemed right in the world and his biggest issue was the Council of Elders and the expectations they put on him. 

Up here, he could almost forget this wasn’t his Galahd.

The irritation was still persistent, but less so up here. Like being on the haven had soothed it some, for now.

“What am I suppose to do?” Nyx muttered to himself.

“I would think that was obvious.” Nyx jumped at the unexpected voice from behind, his kukri already ready, although he lowered it when he saw who had spoken. “You’ve a debt to repay to the Lucii.” 

The Infernian was smaller than Nyx expected, but then again, Shiva could apparently take on multiple sizes. Who was to say that Ifrit wasn’t doing the same? And even if he wasn’t, who was Nyx to judge the size of an Astral? 

“Ifrit.” Nyx acknowledged with a nod. Ifrit stared at him, and if he expected Nyx to bow or react in any other way, then he was going to be disappointed. Nyx sat back down and turned so he was facing Galahd again.

“They will continue to call.”

“Then maybe they should have just taken their boon back.” Nyx replied bitterly. “Like I asked them to.”

“You called that asking?” Nyx might have been wrong, but he thought there was at least some humor and amusement in Ifrit’s voice. 

“You should have heard the first time I talked to them, when Insomnia fell.”

“Insomnia fell?” Ifrit repeated. He walked over to the edge of the haven and peered down at Galahd. Nyx had the sudden vision and idea to just _push_ him off the edge, but he didn’t think that would go too well. “You’ve spoken of Galahd burning,” queue the urge to push him growing, “and now of Insomnia’s fall. Tell me, how did your Eos manage? Did the King of Kings truly succeed in his calling?”

“Why am I here?” Nyx asked instead of answering. 

“To serve both the Lucii and myself.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Nyx replied. 

“I know.” Ifrit grinned at him, and when Nyx blinked, he was gone.

“Fucking Astrals.” He growled to himself. He adjusted how he was sitting on the haven, so his leg dangled over the edge. 

All around him, he could hear the sounds of Galahd. The Coeurl’s roar, the snapping of the jaws of seadevils, the cries of various other wildlife. Far below him, he could hear the rushing rapids of the river. 

Well, he supposed that little chat cleared up for sure who he was Bonded to – like there was any doubt about it. It also explained up the irritation. He couldn’t stay in Galahd. He wasn’t sure if he would have wanted to anyways.

It was Galahd, but not his Galahd, and there was only so much of that which he could take. Would Insomnia be the same? 

He lost time pondering that until there was disturbance in the foliage and Libertus stumbled out onto the haven. Nyx regarded him for a moment, and then glanced up at the sky to judge the moon’s position to where it had been earlier.

A couple of hours. 

Well, he supposed it was better than nothing. And he had _something_ now, even if that something was just knowledge.

“Are you trying to give us heart attacks?” Libertus asked, as he took a seat beside Nyx on the haven. “Bad enough that you disappeared into the jungle during the day, but I draw the line at night.”

He had a phone pulled out, which was strange considering Nyx was about 90% certain that Ramuh had destroyed his phone.

“Did you tell…” He couldn’t say ‘the captain’. The words were there, at the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t say them. He couldn’t call Drautos captain. Not when he was a traitor, not when he was Glauca.

Then again, things were different here. Niflheim hadn’t attacked, Galahd still stood, Selena was alive. So maybe, just maybe, Drautos wasn’t a traitor; wasn’t General Glauca of Niflheim.

Regardless if he was or wasn’t, the magic still pulled at him. He could feel it under his skin, simmering, boiling hot. 

Libertus lowered the phone and frowned at Nyx. “You heard that?”

“Was it a nightmare?”

“Shit, Nyx.” Libertus huffed and opened his mouth like he was going to say more, and then seemed to think better. He looked out at Galahd, and didn’t say anything more for a good long moment. “There was a lot of confusion. He wants us to head back to Insomnia.”

Music to Nyx’s ears. As if that was something he had been waiting all day to hear, he could feel the irritation further seeping away. 

“Insomnia.” Nyx whispered. 

“Selena doesn’t think—” Libertus’ phone cut him off, preventing him from continuing on what Selena didn’t think. He peered down at it and frowned at the caller ID. 

Nyx frowned at the ringtone. “Is that… my phone?” Another similarity between him and the old Nyx: their ring tones… if that was in fact his phone. He was willing to bet that it was because of the look Libertus shot him and also because Libertus’ phone was toast.

“Crowe, now’s not a good time.” Libertus said as he answered the phone. That caught Nyx’s attention more than the ringtone. Crowe… that was right: she was alive in this world too. Everyone he wished he could save was alive. Well, almost everyone.

“Is it real?” He heard Crowe’s voice from the phone, frantic and more than a little angry. “The picture, is it _real_?”

“Crowe.” Libertus started, but she interrupted with another, “Is it real?”

…Picture? Libertus seemed to have the same confusion because he pulled the phone away, pressed some buttons and then promptly cursed, “Six. The group text.”

Nyx took this as an opportunity to take the phone – his phone – from Libertus. “Crowe.” He said before Libertus could take it back, holding a hand out to keep Libertus at bay.

He hesitated, his gaze darting from the phone to the hand. As if to prove a point, Nyx wiggled his fingers like he was about to summon fire. Libertus, like anyone with a good sense of self-preservation, backed off.

“Nyx!” Crowe gasped. “You little shit, I thought you were _dead_.” 

Nyx could say the same to her.

“A lot’s happened.” He replied instead, because what was he supposed to do, tell her that he _had_? Ha. Fat chance. She would lord that over him for the rest of his life. “How are you?”

“No, no, no!” Crowe snapped. He could hear noises in the background that almost sounded like a bar or a restaurant.. or maybe even just the outside of a bar or restaurant. “You don’t get to just ask me how I’ve been over the phone when I’ve thought you were dead for the last week! Does the captain know yet?!”

“Libertus called him.” 

“Before he had to go find you? What was that about? What happened?!” Ah, Nyx’s favorite question: what happened. He sighed, and looked out over Galahd in the direction of Insomnia. 

“I’ll be home soon.” The words slipped out without him meaning to. He had just meant to assure her that he’d be back soon… not that he’d be… _home_. But it was hard to think of Insomnia as anything other than home. He spent half his life there, defending that city and serving under the king.

And _this_ Galahd wasn’t his home. His Galahd was burned and gone and… not this. He couldn’t stay here. Lucii and their debts or not. 

Over the phone, Crowe had gone completely quiet. In Galahd, Libertus was staring at him with an expression that looked like a mixture of him eating a lemon and like Nyx had just lost his mind. “Home?” He mouthed to Nyx.

“Home?” Crowe unknowingly echoed, sounding more than a little lost and confused. She cleared her throat a moment later. “Right, how soon is soon? I need to punch you.”

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Oh no we aren’t!” Libertus argued, shaking his head. “We’ve got to settle things with the Council.”

“Fuck the Council. I already said all I needed to say to them.” Nyx replied tartly. Crowe remained quiet on the phone, and Nyx was suddenly unsure if she could hear only him or Libertus too.

“Nyx, you can’t just _leave_ Galahd.”

The irritation he had been feeling all day flared up at the words, and light flashed as fire sprung out unbidden around Nyx. Libertus shrieked and jumped back, his wide eyes flashing as they reflected the flames. 

Well, thank the Astrals they were on a haven because otherwise Nyx might have actually set the jungle on fire. And he _refused_ to be the cause of _this_ Galahd burning.

He stood and grabbed his Kukri. 

“Watch me.” He said, before tossing his phone at Libertus so he didn’t destroy that too. He then jumped off the haven and threw his kukri into the waters of the river below. 

~

Crowe was growing more and more concerned the less Libertus and Pelna responded to her. She had gotten a text from Pelna that all was good, but other than that, there had been nothing. 

Luche had thought another night out would help; something about getting some drink in her to forget or something. The whole squad had been interested, so once more she was seated between Luche and a steadily-growing anxious Axis. 

He was watching her tap her nails against the table and scooting his chair away every few minutes like he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Luche, the bastard that he was, had taken her phone away and refused to give it back until the morning. She was debating seeing if she could swipe someone else’s when both her phone and Luche’s went off with a tone that signaled a text from… Nyx.

Luche froze mid movement of taking a drink and then slowly lowered his glass back down to the table. He pulled out Crowe’s phone and stared at the message. Crowe leaned over to read over his shoulder. 

“Found him.” She read out. “What does thaa—ahhh that’s Nyx.” 

A second message had come through as they stared at the first message, and now they were both staring at a picture of a very alive Nyx staring out at the horizon. The bluish white glow told her that they were on a haven somewhere, and the distortion of the sky proved they were still in Lucis. 

But she couldn’t take her eyes off Nyx. The picture was fuzzy as most pictures were when taken in darkness, but there were tiny silvery white smears on his face and… she squinted, were his eyes glowing or was it just a reflection of the haven?

“Tell me you’re seeing this too.” She whispered.

She was aware that the rest of the table was clamoring for answers, but she couldn’t hear them. Audio had been muted for all except Luche and her phone. Luche had yet to respond, but she could feel his body trembling and she _knew_ that he was seeing it too.

She didn’t think when she swiped the phone from his hands and hit ‘dial’ on Nyx’s contact info. 

It picked up before the second ring. 

“Crowe, now’s not a good time.” Libertus replied, the reception the clearest she had ever heard from Galahd. She didn’t really care if it was a good time or not, she needed to know.

“Is it real?” She demanded to know. Because if it was real… if it was… She didn’t know what she’d do. Probably storm off to Galahd to punch all three of them. Was this their idea of a prank? “The picture, is it _real_?”

The table was staring at her, but she couldn’t move. She was rooted against Luche, her whole body tense as she waited for an answer.

“Crowe.” Libertus started with a tone she recognized all too well. No. She wasn’t going to let him ‘big brother’ placate her. Not right now. Not with something as important as this.

“Is it real?” She repeated.

“Six. The group text.” Libertus said, which was basically as much as a confirmation that she was going to get. He hadn’t meant to send the picture through the group text. If he hadn’t meant to send it… then that meant he meant to send it to Pelna specifically. 

A text saying ‘found him’ with a picture of Nyx. Had he just been _missing_ this entire time and they just assumed him dead? What was going on?

She opened her mouth, ready to demand answers when she heard, “Crowe.”

Luche seemed to stiffen more than he already was, but Crowe could only gasp. She never thought she’d hear his voice again. She had thought she heard his voice when Libertus called her but… it had seemed to impossible.

As impossible as Nyx actually dying.

“Nyx! You little shit, I thought you were _dead_.”

“A lot’s happened.” What kind of vague, cryptic bullshit was that?! What did he mean ‘a lot’s happened’!? Obviously a lot had happened because she _believed him to be dead_. “How are you?”

Oh no. He didn’t get to ask her that. He didn’t deserve to ask her that. 

“No, no, no!” Crowe snapped. Axis wasn’t even being subtle with his scooting away now as she growled into the phone. “You don’t get to just ask me how I’ve been over the phone when I’ve thought you were dead for the last week! Does the captain know yet?!”

She could hear the whispers of the various Glaive at the table. Varying mini conversations that all seemed to be saying the same shit; “Nyx isn’t dead?”, “That’s what it sounds like.” , “What the fuck?”. 

Luche silenced it all with a stern glare. 

“Libertus called him.” Nyx replied.

“Before he had to go find you? What was that about? What happened?!” Crowe asked, because those were important questions to ask. Especially the last one. She needed to know what happened. Had Nyx really been dead? How was he alive now? What. Happened?

“I’ll be home soon.” Nyx said instead of answering her, like that explained anything and didn’t add more questions to her already steadily growing pile. 

Home. The word choice stuck a chord in her, and she froze. Home was an important concept to a Galahdan. Home, Family, Friends… it was all important. Nyx often spoke of Galahd when he spoke of home, but now he spoke of…

He couldn’t be speaking of Galahd because last she knew he was _in _Galahd. 

“Home?” She echoed before shaking her head and clearing her throat. She could focus on that later. “Right, how soon is soon? I need to punch you.”

Nyx’s laughter was not something she knew she needed until she heard it. The tension melted from her, from Luche too. If Nyx was laughing, then everything was fine. Or at least, it would be fine.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” He promised her.

“Oh no we aren’t!” Libertus sounded distant, but his voice was no less recognizable. “We’ve got to settle things with the Council.” 

The sound Nyx made at that was the most relatable noise Crowe had ever heard from him. “Fuck the Council.” Crowe rolled her lips to keep from responding. This didn’t seem like the type of conversation she should insert herself into. “I already said all I needed to say to them.”

“Nyx, you can’t just _leave_ Galahd.” Libertus’ words didn’t make sense because Nyx had left Galahd before. He left and joined the Kingsglaive and that was that. So what did he mean that Nyx couldn’t leave Galahd?

There was a floosh of magic. Fire maybe? Blizzard tended to be more crystalline, and Thunder was more zappy. “Watch me.” She heard Nyx say before there was a loud thundering noise and Libertus – much closer sounding – shouted out “NYX!”

“Shiva’s frozen tit, fuck.” Libertus cursed. “Fucking fire, fucking magic, FUCK YOU, NYX!” Both she and Luche winced at the volume of Libertus at the last bit. There was the sound of more fumbling. “You can’t tell anyone about this, Crowe.” 

She looked out at all of the Glaive who had overheard at least her side of the conversation. “What about Luche?” Since Luche was part of the group text.

She could practically hear Libertus thinking it over before he sighed heavily. “Fine. Just him though.”

“Just him.” She agreed with a nod. 

“I’ve got to go find Nyx… again.” Libertus sounded so tired, she almost felt bad for him. “Just… just be prepared when he comes back.” Was the last thing he said before he hung up.

Luche frowned. “What does that mean?”

Crowe pursed her lips and pocketed her phone since she had it back now. “I don’t know.” She replied quietly before turning her attention to the table. “This doesn’t get spoken of to anyone, got it?” She snapped at them.

Most of the Glaives nodded, and said, “Yes Ma’am” in unison.

Tredd leaned forward so he was resting most of his weight on the table. His dark eyes glittered as his gaze bounced from Crowe to Luche. “But is it true? Ulric really alive?”

The look Luche shot him was positively toxic. Really, one of these days she was going to sit down with Luche and learn all of his facial expressions because they could be _gold_. “We don’t know for sure.”

“She was talking to Nyx.” Axis said before wincing when Crowe glanced at him. “I think that pretty much sums that up.”

“Until the captain says otherwise, Nyx is dead.” Luche’s tone had no room for argument. Both Tredd and Axis fell silent and looked away. No one else really had anything else to say. Or rather, if they did, they didn’t say it while around Crowe and Luche.

~

“It could be worse.” Pelna sighed as they walked back to house. Libertus shot him a dry look. A look which was drier than either of them considering they had spent the night digging through the river for either Nyx or Nyx’s body.

Neither had been found.

“What could be worse than Nyx diving off Galahd canyon into the river and us returning to Selena empty handed?” Libertus asked.

Pelna shrugged, surprisingly taking everything into stride with more ease than Libertus. “Dunno, but imagine if Tredd had been Bonded instead.”

“Now that’s a nightmare.” Libertus didn’t want to imagine. His entire body shuddered, and he shot Pelna the dirtiest look he could. 

“Or Crowe.” Pelna suggested.

“Ha!” Libertus shook his head. “I still aint convinced that she isn’t!”

“Fair point.” Pelna inclined his head. “Think she can teach Nyx?”

“Either her or the captain.” Libertus grunted. If not either of them, then probably someone from the Royal family. They were supposedly all Bonded, and who better to teach a Bonded than a Bonded? Maybe the King’s Uncle?

“Cap hates fire magic.”

Libertus grunted again, but didn’t really have anything to add to that. He was too tired to add to that.

He had hoped that Nyx would have shown back up before daybreak, but it was beginning to seem like a fool’s hope. Astrals, Selena was going to kill them.

They stopped outside of Nyx’s house and stared up at it. 

“She’s going to kill us.” Pelna whispered. “I’d rather brave the jungle looking for Nyx.” He turned to look at Libertus with the most pathetic expression. “You’re sure you can’t think of anywhere he’d disappear off to?”

“He’s an _Ulric_.” Libertus replied, like that explained everything. And he supposed in some ways it did. “He could be in the river,” which they searched extensively, “he could be in the jungle, he could be in town, he could be in the canyons… he’s wherever he wants to be.” And he wasn’t quite the same as Libertus remembered. 

He was _different_, and Libertus wasn’t sure it was a good _different_. Actually, considering he was bonded to Ifrit, Libertus was almost positive that it wasn’t a good different. He took a deep breath and stepped forward to enter the house just as the door opened.

Libertus’ grandfather stood in the doorway and frowned at Libertus. Libertus shifted uneasily. 

“Is Nyx with you?” He asked after a moment.

“He’s…” Libertus trailed off, gesturing at the surrounding jungle. “an _Ulric_. You try to keep up with one.”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes, staring at them like they might be lying and then sighed. “Very well. When he returns, be sure to inform him that the council wishes to have a word with him.” 

Oh yeah, Libertus would get started on that right away. Certainly.

_Not_.

Last time he brought up the Council, Nyx _jumped off the edge of Galahd Canyon_ and fuck that.

Libertus’ grandfather stepped out of the house and took a couple of steps towards Libertus. He looked him over, opening his mouth to say something before thinking otherwise and shutting it. Libertus knew he had upset his grandfather all those years ago when he befriended Nyx, and then disappointed him further when he followed Nyx out of Galahd.

As an Elder, he couldn’t condone their actions, and the man had always had difficulty coming to terms with Libertus’ choices due to it. 

“Are you alright?” He finally asked after a moment. Pelna took a look between the two of them and the open doorway. It took him all of a second to decide that Selena’s anger was better than witnessing this, and darted through the door. 

“I’m fine.” Libertus lied. 

His grandfather hummed, clearly not believing him but not having enough clout with Libertus to call him out on it. He nodded sagely. 

“When will you be leaving again?”

Libertus glanced at the door Pelna had disappeared through and shuffled uneasily again. “Hard ta say.” He admitted. If Nyx had his way, it would be this morning. He had yet to tell Pelna about what he had told Crowe, only that Nyx had spoken to Crowe.

He felt like if he said that Nyx had referred to _Insomnia_ as home, then it would be true, and well… Libertus wasn’t ready for that yet. 

“Will Insomnia take him?” There was an unspoken addition to the question. Will Insomnia take him, if he’s Bonded? Libertus shifted uneasily again. 

“The Royal Family…”

“He is not Royal Blood, but Wild Blood.” Libertus’ grandfather interrupted before nodding his head again. “I will visit again tomorrow. If he has yet to return, a search will be organized.” The old man turned away and started to hobble away. 

Libertus watched him until he disappeared and then darted for the door like his grandfather was a daemon set on killing him and the door was the Wall of Lucis.

“That looked awkward.” Nyx said as Libertus closed the door, and no matter what anyone said, he did not shriek.

“Six, Nyx!” Libertus clasped him on the shoulder before remembering himself and taking a step back. “Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there.” Nyx shrugged. There was a thick stripe of mud streaked across his face, and his hair was surprisingly damp. There was a mud trail behind him, along with a disapproving sister and a concerned Pelna watching from the doorway to the living area. Despite that, he looked _better_. Like he had gotten some rest wherever he was. Libertus hoped that would help ease his irritation or whatever and make him a bit more reasonable.

“What did the elder want?” Nyx asked.

“You.” Libertus said. “They’ll want to know who you’re bonded with, if they haven’t already figured it out.”

“Not Ramuh.”

“No shit.” Libertus poked him in the chest. His jacket was damp too. Ugh, that would be a pain to clean. The jackets always were. “You’re a right pain.” He paused and looked back at the door and then at Nyx. “You’re not leaving till you settle with the Council.”

Nyx’s mouth did that twist, and Libertus’ heart stilled for a moment as the irrational fear of Nyx exploding entered his mind. Selena was just a few feet away, this was Nyx’s _home_… he wouldn’t explode, would he?

“What’s there to settle?” Nyx asked. “I’m not bonded to Ramuh.” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “If they want an Ulric, Selena’s still here.”

The look Selena gave him could be found on a face of Coeurl before it killed its prey. Nyx was as unaffected as ever. Perhaps because he was a Coeurl himself and also perhaps because he was Bonded to Ifrit, and things stopped being threatening when one’s Bonded to the Infernian.

“Captain did want us to return to Insomnia so a doctor could look over Nyx.”

“Then it’s settled.” Nyx shrugged. “We’re leaving.”

“Nyx!” Selena chided.

“Can’t we get some rest? It’ll be a few hours till the Ferry’s up to take up to the mainland.” Pelna whined. “We’ve been looking for _you_ all night.”

Nyx shifted and there was a flash of irritation in Nyx’s eyes that was very quickly hidden away. Libertus was going to hate himself for this later but… “I think we should go ahead and leave.” 

Everyone’s head jerked to him. Pelna and Selena both looked at him like he was a traitor, but Nyx was looking at him like he was a saint. Tension seemed to melt off of Nyx, like hearing those words was an Astral-send.

…Was there something more to Nyx’s desire to leave? Was it something related to him being Bonded?

“And take who’s boat?” Pelna demanded. “The Ferry isn’t up yet.”

“The Ferry?” Libertus repeated. “You want to put this Firestarter on a Ferry? No, the sooner we get him to Insomnia, the sooner he’s in the hands of people who know how to handle Bonded, and the sooner he’s out of the public where he could accidently hurt a civilian.” All the reasonings rolled off Libertus’ tongue, and as he said them, he realized they were all true.

“So then what?” Pelna asked. 

“I’ll speak with my grandfather… see if I can convince him to let use his boat.” Libertus sighed. He looked back to Nyx. “But you’ll need to talk to the Council for this to happen.”

Nyx closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reopening them – there was still an afterglow of magic in them – and nodding. “Fine.”

Selena wrapped her arms around herself and turned on her heel. “Clean up before you go.” She snapped at them before disappearing into her room. Nyx watched her go and sighed. “Go get your grandfather and the others… I’ll clean up here.”

“And I’m gonna take a nap.” Pelna said.

“Oh no.” Libertus shook his head. “You’re going to call the Captain and let him know we need a car waiting for us on the mainland, and if he can manage it, someone to drive us back to the city.”

Pelna sighed and turned away, presumably and hopefully to do as asked. Libertus nodded at Nyx and clasped him – carefully – on the shoulder. “Be back soon, Hero.” 

Nyx’s lips twisted again at the nickname, but his eyes remained clear of magic. Libertus let out a mental sigh of relief, clapped his shoulder twice and then turned to exit out the door. If he was quick, he should be able to catch up with his grandfather before he got too far.

~

Pelna couldn’t be the only one feeling uncomfortable watching the Council of Elders all watching Nyx watching them. Selena sat beside him, frowning as her gaze darted among the various Elders and Nyx. Pelna didn’t need to know Nyx to know that he was tense and irritated, and Libertus… well, Pelna felt the most sorry for Libertus because he was the one closest to Nyx.

He was also sweating like Nyx was giving off heat, and well, Pelna wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t.

The council had decided that since they tried to meet with Nyx on his turf and that failed, that they would try on their turf now. And thus they all took their showers, headed down to the Council Building and here they all were.

“As a Bonded, it is your duty to Galahd—”

“As a Bonded, my duty is to my Astral.” Nyx interrupted. His eyes seemed to flash, and was it Pelna or was it a couple degrees hotter in here? Libertus subtly scooted away from Nyx and grimaced.

“As an Ulric—”

“I owe nothing to you.” Nyx growled out. 

Some of those who were in the council house to observe gasped, but nothing Nyx had said was false. As a Bonded, his duty was technically to the Astral he was Bonded to. As an Ulric, his duty was to the people of Galahd, and while that included the Elders, it wasn’t to them specifically.

“I’d better serve my people away from Galahd, unless you’d want to see it _Burn_.” There were more gasps at this. Even Selena gasped. The subtle threat wasn’t subtle. Or perhaps it was a warning. Pelna wiped at his forehead and frowned at the moisture on his hands after the action. It _was_ getting hotter in here.

Several of the Council members were looking at each other, some with clear panic in their eyes.

“I’ve seen what Galahd looks like burning, and I never want to see it again.” Nyx informed them all, his voice deadly serious. 

“And who would see Galahd burned? You?” Libertus’ grandfather questioned. 

Nyx laughed bitterly. “No. But if I can’t leave, then I can’t protect Galahd from those who would. As an Ulric, it’s my duty to protect this land and these people; and as an Ulric, I have the right to leave, if I so choose, and take whoever wants to leave with me. You’ve said it yourself, Elder Ostium. My blood is Wild, would you like to Test it?”

As if Ramuh was witnessing his words, there was a loud clap of thunder. 

Libertus’ grandfather had gone still. So very still at the threat of a Test. None had ever Tested an Ulric and won. There was a reason they were one of the oldest bloodlines of Galahd, that there were rumors of them being Coeurls or touched by Ramuh. 

There was a reason the Astrals had Bonded Nyx, and Pelna wouldn’t Test that for anything.

But this wasn’t just a battle of Nyx wanting to leave. It was a battle between _Old_ and _New_. And he didn’t just mean in the sense that the Elders were, well, old, and Nyx was younger. But in the sense that Nyx came from _Old_ Power. Old bloodlines, old myths, old legends, old ways. And the Elders came from _New_ Power. A new way of thinking that had only been in place for a few generations or so. 

Those who followed the Old would follow Nyx, and if a Test were to come up, then Nyx would win. And depending on the stakes… he could very easily disband the Council of Elders, and continue on his merry way to Insomnia. 

Astrals, he hoped Nyx didn’t push for that. The Council could be a pain, it really could… but they were, in some ways, better than before. 

“By your own admission, you are not Bonded to Ramuh. The Test would have no bearing.” One of the other Elders spoke up. 

“The Storm still runs through my veins.” Nyx replied. “A boon, once given, cannot be taken back.” There was something almost bitter in Nyx’s tone as he spoke, like he was all too familiar with that fact. The wind howled through the town as another clap of thunder shook the building. It was as if Ramuh himself was laughing, and the implications sent chills down Pelna’s spine. “Test me or let me go.”

There was a murmur in the crowd at Nyx’s ultimatum. If the Council Tested and won, then Nyx would have no bearing or right to leave. But if they Tested and lost, well… then it would be up to Nyx what happened. Or the Council could just do as they had with any other Ulric and just let them be.

The Elders were silent, but the storm outside was anything but. 

Pelna wasn’t a fool. Nyx was right, and everyone here knew it. Nyx would be leaving Galahd by the end of the day, regardless of anyone’s feeling on the matter. 

“And Madam Ulric?” One of the Elders turned their attention to Pelna and Selena. “Are you in agreeance with your brother? Would you stand for a Test?”

Selena froze, her fingers twisted into her skirts. She looked away from the Elder who had spoken to Nyx and then back at the Elder before nodding to herself and _standing_. There was a twitter of whispers from the crowd.

“It is the will of my brother to leave, and as a Bonded, I can only assume it to be the will of the Astrals.” She announced, her voice clear and steady despite the shaking of her body. “Ramuh or otherwise, I will stand by their will. If a Test is to be called, then so be it.”

The murmurs from the crowd grew louder. Nyx nodded up at his sister as she took her seat. Her hand found Pelna’s and she squeezed like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning in the ocean during a storm.

“Then so be it.” Libertus’ grandfather echoed quietly. Several of the Elders gave him a panicked look. “You may leave for the mainland, Nyx Ulric. But if you wish to return, a Test will be required.”

Selena gasped, and despite her hold on him, he could feel her shaking and trembling. Honestly, Banishment wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. It wasn’t even the worst terms. A Test was something Nyx could easily win, if he so wished.

“Not only for you, but also for those who leave with you now.” Libertus’ grandfather added.

Oh. Pelna’s world suddenly felt too big and too small. It wasn’t just for Nyx, but for him and Libertus too. The three of them would be banished from Galahd, never allowed to return unless they passed a Test. Or unless Nyx passed the Test, took control of Galahd and removed their banishment.

What a way to push Nyx into a corner. 

Nyx seemed to recognize it just as easily as Pelna. Fire curled around his hands, and his eyes were alight with magic. “Only for me.” Nyx snarled. 

Like a true Coeurl of Galahd, Nyx was trying to protect his own. It was touching in it’s own way. But useless. Pelna didn’t think there was anything that could be done without overthrowing the council. Selena squeezed his hand one more time and then let go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cast him a sorrowful glance.

“Would you like me to include those who left in the past as well?” Elder Ostium asked, arching an eyebrow. When Nyx didn’t reply he nodded and finished with, “I will see you to the mainland.” 

Nyx nodded and left the building, which, honestly, was probably for the best. Libertus cast a look up at them before following after. Pelna stood and hefted the travel bags – his, Libertus’, and Nyx’s – up onto his shoulder.

“I guess… I’ll be seeing you when I see you.” Pelna informed Selena. 

“Tell Nyx I love him.” She requested. Her eyes were damp as she met his gaze. “And not to Test the Elders.”

“I make no promises.” Pelna sighed. “I should… say goodbye to my family.”

“The boat won’t wait.” She said.

“It will wait for Nyx, and _he_ will wait for me.” Pelna argued. He sighed again, and reached up with his free hand to rub at his face and eyes. “I’ll just drop these off with Libertus and…” He shook his head and walked off to find Libertus.

~

“I thought you said this Glaive had died on the Walk.” Clarus said, rightfully – as far as Cor was concerned – suspicious of what Titus was informing them. Regis leaned forward, resting his weight on the desk as he listened in interest.

“That was what I had been informed, yes.” Titus replied, looking suitably annoyed considering the situation. Given the amount of paperwork involved in a Crownsguard death, Cor couldn’t really say he didn’t relate. He could only imagine the amount of paperwork that went into a Kingsglaive death and also the paperwork to ‘undead’ him. “I’ve requested both Khara and Ostium return to Insomnia as soon as possible.”

Clarus and Cor shared a look at that. 

“And Ulric?” Regis asked, his gaze sharp as he observed the Kingsglaive Captain. Titus grimaced. 

“I’ve requested that he return as well, but if Ostium is correct, then the Galahdans may not be so eager to let him leave.”

This was an accurate assumption as far as Cor was concerned. There weren’t many Galahdans in the Glaive, but there were enough for Cor to know that they were some stubborn and loyal folk. If this Ulric was asked to stay, doubtless he would. Loyalty to the crown be damned.

“That’s desertion.” Clarus clearly came to the same conclusion, and the furrowed brow and frown expressed how exactly he felt about it. Titus’ grimace worsened. “Galahdans are Lucians, and they should respect and honor any demand their king asks of them.”

“Galahd has always entertained a higher sense of autonomy than other regions.” Regis said quietly. “The kings of past have been content to allow Galahd to do as they pleased; and I see little reason to change that now.” Regis cast Clarus a _look_. “To do so would just invite more trouble to our doorstep.”

They were all quiet for a moment, and Cor almost expected the King’s Uncle to speak if only because Regis had just sort of admonished the kings of the past for leaving Galahd to its own devices and surely the man would have thoughts on that. 

If he did, he <strike>surprisingly</strike> didn’t share them.

Instead he remained where he was, in the corner of the room, studying the books that he had probably put in the study. He pulled one out and opened it, idly flipping through the pages. 

Clarus cleared his throat. “Of course, your majesty.” Clarus bowed his head, and then looked to Titus. “If he is indeed _Bonded, _to who would it be?”

“The Stormsender, most likely.” The King’s Uncle said, garnering the attention of everyone else in the room if only because this was the first time he had spoken since the meeting had started. He continued to flip through his book. “Galahdans traditionally have had a strong relationship with the Fulgurian.”

“He died from lightning bolt on a Walk.” Titus said dryly. “I didn’t think the other Astrals were even a consideration.”

Regis hummed and leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtfully out the window at the clear blue skies outside. “You already have a doctor ready to check Ulric over?” He asked after a moment, glancing at Titus. “If he has truly died, surely there would be repercussions to his heath.”

“I have one on standby. Ostium alluded to possible memory problems.”

Regis nodded and steepled his fingers. “And when should they arrive?”

“If they left this morning, I expect their arrival soon. Khara requested a vehicle, but the driver was called away on a hunt.” Titus sounded more than a little put out that whichever hunter he had deliver the car hadn’t stayed to see it delivered.

That’s what he got for outsourcing.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to let a possible _Bonded_ into the city without clarification that they mean us no harm?” Clarus asked, ever trying to be the voice of reason. The King’s Uncle scoffed under his breath. 

“It is doubtful he would be able to make the journey on such short notice. Not when the Galahdans would want to do their own investigation.” Titus assured Clarus at the same time Cor felt a familiar rumble in the back of his mind that he hadn’t heard or felt in years. Something had woken the Sleeping Giant. In the corner of the room, the King’s Uncle stiffened. 

“Then why have a doctor on standby?” Clarus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“As a precaution in the event that he did—”

“He’s in the city.” Cor interrupted, bouncing off the wall. Almost everyone’s attention snapped to him. Almost everyone because the King’s Uncle looked thoughtfully out one of the windows instead. 

“Oh… that’s curious.” The King’s Uncle said to himself as he snapped his book shut and put it away. 

“Ardyn?” Regis’ gaze turned wary as it shifted from Cor to the man who had spoken. 

The King’s Uncle grinned the type of grin that Cor had long ago learned to associate with ‘danger’ – especially when upon the face of any of the Lucis Caelum line – and spun around to face the group. “Well, let’s not keep our newest _Bonded_ waiting.”

~

If Nyx thought that being on the mainland gave him a sense of relief, it was nothing like what entering into Insomnia granted him. 

The moment their car passed the stone walls of the building, it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The itch under his skin, that simmering annoyance, just seemed to settle and dissipate. 

_“The cost is a life: your life.” _ The original terms of the Lucii granting him their ‘light’ had been set and were cast in stone. The cost was his life, and in the world where everything had fallen, he had died. But now he was alive in another version of his world with the old cost looming over his head. 

The cost was a life, and although he had not asked for the Lucii’s light here, he was still forced to pay. _“…He will pay his life, but not in death. His life will be in our service.” _ The queen’s voice echoed in his head. 

Of course he felt more at ease in Insomnia than in Galahd. He was bound to Insomnia, bound to the Lucii to serve them; and Insomnia was their seat of power. He could feel it as they traveled through the city. It flowed freely here, congealing in places where the Old Wall waited.

But for as different as Galahd had been… Insomnia was the same, and that also put him at ease.

This was Insomnia, and yes, it was different, but the city was always different. Always changing, always new, and he could accept this.

He hated that he could accept Insomnia as his home more than he could Galahd.

“Uhh… Nyx?”

The irritation was back, but this time it was all his own. It itched under his skin alongside the burn of magic and fire. 

He didn’t ask for this. To have the Lucii’s power again, to be brought back to life to live in a world that was like his own but different. The Lucii wanted him to serve them, but why? What did they want? 

“Nyx!” He jerked as Libertus pushed him. “Fire.” Libertus pointedly looked at Nyx’s hands. In the driver seat, Pelna snorted.

“Give it up, Lib. The car’s toast.” Pelna said, more than a little bitter. Although that might have been because he was driving despite his exhaustion. Or perhaps he was bitter because Nyx had gotten him and Libertus both _banished_ from Galahd. 

Nyx shifted guilty and looked around the burned interior. It wasn’t like he meant to do this, it just… happened. “I can’t…”

“I know.” Libertus and Pelna said at the same time with varying degrees of annoyance and pity mixed together. “I know.” Libertus repeated in a softer tone than what was usual for him. “But let’s try not to set the seat on fire until I’m no longer using it.”

It wasn’t like Nyx meant to keep setting fire to things. He would be completely fine and then just someone would say or do something, and the magic and fire reacted faster than he could control it… Next thing they knew, he was on fire. 

Pelna drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in what Nyx knew to be a nervous gesture. Not that he could blame him, considering Nyx was a firebomb waiting to happen.

They came to a stop outside the Citadel near the area requisitioned for the Glaive. Libertus looked at the doors and sighed. “Captain’s waiting for us.” He said. 

Despite his words, no one made an effort to get out of the car. Pelna sighed and hit his hands against the wheel twice before twisting around to look at Nyx.

“You know there’s probably more than Drautos waiting for us in there, right?”

Nyx nodded. He suspected that the king was there as well, and wherever Regis went, his shield was sure to follow. The Marshall was probably there as well considering his close status to the king and his shield. And wherever the King was, that damned ring was sure to be as well. 

If he could get ahold of that, he could demand some answers from the Lucii. Or maybe they’d just burn through him like they had before, leaving him as nothing other than ashes on the breeze.

It wasn’t a bad way to go, considering.

“Nyx. Fire.” Libertus said with the tone of someone who wasn’t sure where they were pulling their patience from anymore. Only once Nyx managed to put it out did he reach out and clasp Nyx’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Nyx wasn’t so sure, but he nodded regardless. “Let’s get this over with.”

They exited the car, ignoring the two on-duty Glaives who were staring at Nyx like they had seen a ghost. He supposed they had considering he was declared dead.

Ugh, he could already imagine the headache that was going to make to fix.

Libertus pushed the door to the courtyard opened and entered first. Followed quickly by Pelna. Nyx paused, a feeling of dread and foreboding suddenly falling upon him. 

“Titan is awake.” Ifrit was leaning against the wall, near one of the Glaives who didn’t seem to recognize the Astral’s presence at all. Flames swirled under Nyx’s skin, setting his nerves alight. “This does not bode well for us lest Bahamut interfere.”

Nyx was tempted to turn around and go back inside the car. He didn’t know what Ifrit was talking about, and he was most certainly not interested in finding out.

But that wasn’t an option. It never was.

He took a deep breath and ignored the Astral as he entered. Ifrit’s eyes seemed to glow with interest as he followed behind.

Libertus and Pelna were bowing, and while Nyx was far more familiar with kneeling to the king, it was usually because he had approached him in the throne room. He bowed, “Your majesty.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and heard the shattering glass of a weapon being pulled from the armiger. “Cor.” King Regis called out and the movement ceased.

“Fascinating.” A voice unknown to Nyx said. “Simply fascinating. Isn’t this a surprise? We expected—”

“Oh no.” Said Ifrit in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite of what he was saying despite the fact only Nyx could hear him. “Don’t. That’s—"

“The Fulgurian,” the voice finished. 

Ifrit laughed, but the noise was lost to the roar of fire both inside and out Nyx’s veins. “Why does everyone keep assuming that?” Nyx snapped, standing out of his bow to glower at the owner of the unknown voice. Nyx assumed it came from the unknown man standing closest to him. Unknown man, unknown voice. Perfect fit. “Just because I’m Galahdan doesn’t mean I owe my life or anything else to Ramuh. I don’t owe him _shit_.”

“Ardyn!” King Regis shouted amid a cacophony of various other shouts from various other people.

“Oh. Touchy subject.” The man, Ardyn, said as he spun out of the way of the flames, his golden eyes flashing in the flickering light. “I see you’ve received the Infernian’s temper.”

The flames surrounding Nyx crackled as they burned. Both Libertus and Pelna had thrown themselves back against the door to the courtyard to avoid being burned. 

“Nyx! Deep breaths.” Pelna called out to remind him. Of the two, Pelna tended to be the more helpful. Libertus would just shout ‘Fire’ at him until he figured it out, but Pelna would actually offer suggestions. He clenched his fists and pulled back against the fire and magic. 

It tugged back, pulling against him, trying to pull him _into _it. 

“Enough!” King Regis’ voice echoed with power, not just his own, but from the Lucii as well. The result was like expecting another step at the top of the stairs and falling through or tugging on a piece of rope expecting resistance when there was none. 

The fire went out in the courtyard with a whoosh, and Nyx was left feeling more drained and tired than he ever had from any mission or day of training. 

Ardyn looked over his shoulder at Drautos. “It appears we should have considered other Astrals after all. The Infernian is vastly different from—”

“Don’t!” Both Pelna and Libertus shouted at once with more than a little panic. “He can’t control it.” Pelna elaborated, gesturing to the scorched ground around them. 

“Tis to be expected of a newly Bonded.” Ardyn replied. He stepped closer to Nyx and paused, waiting to see if fire would once more spring up. When it didn’t, he brightened. “Although, I must say that I am intrigued as to why the Infernian would _Bond_. I wasn’t even aware it was allowed.” 

King Regis stepped forward, ignoring Clarus’ and Cor’s calls of his name. “Do you not have the response of your Astral?” 

“Well, your majesty,” Nyx stated, fighting to remember that this was not the King Regis that he knew, and therefore was not a Regis that he could snark at. Or demand an audience with. “I’ve only known him for a day, but he seems to be an Astral of few words.” Of course, Nyx snarked anyways.

The tips of Regis’ lips curled upwards, and Nyx was reminded that the king, while a good man, was also a menace. Not that he spent much time with the king in his world beyond the occasional guard duty. “Most Astrals are.” King Regis agreed. “How was it that you came across the Infernian?”

Nyx shrugged. “Don’t remember,” He said, and then as an afterthought he added, “I died.” 

The corners of the king’s mouth uplifted into a more prominent proper smile at that. “As I have heard.” He said before gesturing in the direction of <strike>Glauca’s</strike> Drautos’ office. “We have a doctor waiting to assess you for any injuries caused by that, if you wish.”

Nyx glanced at Drautos to see him making a face at the king. Not a bad face, not a face to make Nyx’s blood burn with the need to destroy. Not a face to make Glauca spring forth in Nyx’s mind. It was more of a face a whiny child. It was an unspoken complaint of ‘you want to put the firebomb in _my office?!’. _

“Regis.” Cor said, his voice tight. 

“He is no threat to us,” King Regis said, and when Cor and Clarus opened their mouths to protest, he held up his hand to silence them. Nyx’s gaze could not help but to snap to the Ring of the Lucii on the king’s finger. “No matter the Astral, he is no threat to us.” Regis’ tone held no room for argument, a fact both seemed to understand. 

Cor ‘hmphed’ and dispelled his sword back to the armiger. There was this strange connection to Cor that hummed under his skin. Like he should _know_ the Marshal. “One of Titan’s Bonded.” Ifrit informed Nyx. 

Did each Astral have a Bonded, or only some? Could there be more than one person Bonded to an Astral? Could they all recognize each other? 

“You said he could not control this?” Regis asked Pelna. 

More than a little shell shocked, Pelna nodded before murmuring a quiet, “Yes, your majesty.”

Regis hummed. “Drautos, Ulric will likely need to be retrained in Elemancy.” He paused and tilted his head slightly. “Do you have a mage available to teach him?”

“You aren’t teaching him.” Clarus, the King’s Shield, stage whispered to Regis in the stern tone of someone who fully expected protests.

“A mage, your majesty?” Drautos asked.

“Do you suppose a standard Glaive, even one proficient in Elemancy, would be able to handle fire the likes of which we just witnessed?” King Regis asked, arching a brow. When Drautos failed to answer, he nodded sharply. “As I thought. A mage?”

“Altius is one of our best with Fire and is a member of his squad.” Drautos sighed. “The squad will need to remain on reserve duty as she is their only mage.”

“Granted.” Regis nodded. He turned his attention back to Nyx and offered another smile. “Now, let’s have the doctor look you over.”

~

The smell of fire magic was heavy in the air. It was spicy sweet, thick with smoke and ash and tar. It was a familiar smell, reminding her all too much of the slopes of Ravatogh. Magic prickled at her skin, causing goosebumps to raise.

She knew before she even made it into the courtyard that there would be scorch marks, and what a beautifully large scorch mark it was. 

It was the first thing her gaze landed on. The second being Pelna and Libertus standing over by the captain.

She left Luche to get their squad into formation and made a beeline for her friends. Being a senior member of the squad had its perks. Drautos frowned when he saw her, but then again, Drautos’ default expression was a frown.

“Altius.”

She snapped to attention and gave him a curt nod. “Sir.”

Pelna was giving her this look of complete pity. Libertus just looked tired. They were both smudged with soot. Not a lot of it, but enough to show that they had been around when whatever scorched the ground had happened. 

“I have a special assignment for you.” Drautos announced.

She blinked but didn’t outwardly respond beyond that. A special assignment meant that she would be temporarily removed from service from her squad, which was unusual because she was currently the squads _only_ mage. 

“You’ve been reassigned to assist Ulric with regaining control over Elemancy.” Drautos continued, the draw of his mouth clearly indicating what he thought of the idea. “So that,” He nodded over at the scorch mark, “doesn’t happen again.”

She studied her captain, noting the ever so slightly shorter hair and the flush of his skin that she hadn’t noticed on him earlier. He had been present when the fire happened too, although Lib and Pel had been closer.

And apparently _Nyx_ had been the cause.

Which was funny because Nyx was good at Elemancy, but he wasn’t good enough to do that kind of damage. She thought back to the phone call she had with Libertus and the foosh of magic she heard. Or maybe he was now.

Drautos jerked his head over at the squad. “Go join your team.” He barked at them. He approached only once they had fallen into formation. For once, the captain seemed to ignore the twisting and unprofessionalism of the Glaives as they watched Libertus and Pelna fall in.

He cleared his throat to get all of their attention and then surveyed them all. “Last time we spoke, it was to inform you of the death of your squad leader, Nyx Ulric.” He said, standing before them all and looking them all over one by one. A few of the newer Glaives shifted under his gaze. The only sign of him registering the movement was the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

“I call you here today to inform you that the previous statement is incorrect.” This time even experienced Glaives shifted, clearly wanting to break rank to ask for further information. “However, this squad will remain on reserve until further notice.” Drautos continued, like he didn’t notice the squad’s movements. 

“Um, Captain!” A person that Crowe recognized as one of the glaives’ on-demand doctors called out from the captain’s office. “A word?” It was hard to tell from a distance, but Crowe thought there might have been a smudge of soot across her forehead, like she had wiped her brow while there was ash or soot on her hands.

Drautos sighed and turned back to them. “Altius!” He called out.

“Sir.” She snapped to attention. 

“You have your orders.”

“Sir!”

“Dismissed.” He turned on his heel and headed for his office.

Crowe turned to face Libertus and Pelna. They were both watching the captain, although the moment they deemed him far enough, Pelna turned to Libertus and said, “50 Yen his office is on fire.” The Glaive to the right of Pelna choked on air.

“No bet.” Libertus sighed. Closer to him now, Crowe could see the shadows under his eyes that indicated a lack of sleep and more than a little stress.

“50 Yen he gets set on fire.”

“…No bet.”

“50 Yen he—”

“I was in the back seat with him, Pelna.” Libertus snapped. “No. Fucking. Bet.”

“The hell are you two on about?” Tredd asked, crossing his arms as he leered at them. Luche stood back with her and Axis to watch. Libertus turned his tired gaze onto Tredd and considered him.

“Ya know what… I’d be willing to bet that either he or Luche get set on fire first.”

Pelna burst into laughter. “Astrals no. If anyone gets set on fire first, it’ll be the King’s Uncle or Draut—”

The door to the captain’s office burst open and Drautos threw what looked like a giant ball of flame into the courtyard and blasted it with a Blizzara to reveal… his jacket. Pelna snickered as everyone else just stared. “Out. Of. My. Office.” He ground out at someone. “Finish the examination in the clinic.”

“But the king…” The doctor could be heard saying.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” The entire squad straightened at the sound of Nyx’s voice, and a few gasped as he exited the office. A doctor followed behind with a half-charred clipboard. The scent of fire magic rolled off of him, reminding her once again all too much of the slopes of Ravatogh. 

“The King won’t appreciate the clinic experiencing any fire damage.” The doctor argued.

“My _office_ doesn’t appreciate fire damage.” Drautos snapped at the doctor. 

Nyx blinked, ignoring both of them as he looked in the direction of the squad, his gaze falling directly on Crowe. He stared for a moment before returning his attention to the doctor and the captain.

The jacket slung over his back was as charred as the clipboard the doctor was holding. 

“I told you.” Pelna said to Libertus in a stage whisper. “King’s Uncle or Drautos.” Pelna paused and made a face. “Or anyone who says, you know, the trigger words.”

“Fuck the trigger words.” Libertus spat out, his eyes narrowed in a look of contempt that Crowe wasn’t used to seeing. 

“Um, care to fill any of us in?” Axis asked. 

“Nyx is _Bonded_.” Both Pelna and Libertus said at the same time. Although, Pelna added on a whispered, “Six help us.”

“To _who_?!” Tredd demanded.

Crowe snorted. Anyone who had any sort of brains would know that a Galahdan would be _Bonded_ to the Fulgurian. It was like expecting one of the royals to be Bonded to a different Astral than Bahamut – it was unheard of.

Then again, _Bonding_ was already pretty uncommon. And no one else’s fire magic reminded her of Ravatogh… so maybe…

“Isn’t it obvious, to the Fulgari—” Another Glaive voiced Crowe’s thoughts only to be rudely cut off.

“NO!” both Libertus and Pelna shouted, loud enough to cause the captain and doctor to pause their argument. “Not… him.”

“Not who?”

Crowe didn’t know that Pelna could screech like that, or jump that high. Then again, no one was expecting Nyx to be so close. 

The scent of fire magic had yet to disperse, but it was stronger now that Nyx was closer. His gaze was fixed on Pelna, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes that set Crowe’s teeth on edge. He was standing the way he always had, but there was just something _different _about him. She wasn’t the only one to pick up on it as Luche and Axis both scooted a little closer to her. Which was saying something considering Axis generally refused to crowd her.

“No one.” Pelna replied far too quickly with a smile that was too false.

Nyx narrowed his eyes just a fraction. Pelna added in a fake little laugh, and Libertus unsubtly, took a step to the side, away from Pelna.

“Ulric!” Drautos called. Crowe noted there was more than a hint of panic in his tone. “Get back over here.”

That seemed to break the tension. Nyx looked over his shoulder at Drautos and snorted. “Crowe’s supposed to be my teacher. Maybe she can help.”

“Astrals help you.” Pelna told her sincerely. “He can’t control it.”

“What do you know?” Libertus demanded. “You weren’t in the backseat with him.” He crossed his arms and glowered at Pelna. 

“You could have been in the passenger.”

“But then who would have told him that he was setting shit on fire?”

“I’m right here.” Both Pelna and Libertus jumped and Crowe noted their gazes immediately darted down to Nyx’s hands. 

“Ulric!” Drautos called out again, this time crossing the courtyard in long hurried strides. He reached out to grab Nyx’s shoulder and then stopped at the last moment to awkwardly lower his arm. “Report to the clinic.”

Fire burned, quite literally, in Nyx’s eyes as he looked at the captain. “Not without Crowe. She deserves to know what she’ll be working with.”

“A damned nightmare, that’s what.” Drautos replied, surprising most of the Glaive present for his candidness. “Let’s go.” His gaze shifted to Crowe. “You willing to head into the fire?”

Pelna and Libertus snorted and turned the sound into a cough. Pelna’s prayer for the Astrals to help her ran through her mind. She nodded and turned to Nyx, rested her hand on his arm – ignoring the choked noise Libertus made – and nodded towards the clinic. “Let’s get you looked at, Hero.”

~

Pelna watched Crowe depart with Nyx, the captain, and the doctor. “If anyone can handle a little fire, it’s Crowe.” He reassured Libertus.

“Ifrit.” Libertus cursed, which was a bit new. Libertus turned to Tredd and repeated, “Ifrit. He’s _Bonded_ to Ifrit.” He gestured over at the scorch mark in the courtyard, ignoring the horrified looks of their fellow Glaives. “And that’s what happens if you assume he’s Bonded to the Fulgurian.”

“Lair.” Pelna said. “That’s what happens if anyone just mentions the Fulgurian.” 

Libertus grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “Astrals help us.”

~

“Has thou summoned thy King of Kings?” Bahamut demanded of Carbuncle despite knowing full well that the messenger had not yet attempted since his first attempt. 

He knew that the denizens of the world of Eos depended on him to fulfill this mission, but he was worried about making another mistake. But how was he to know that there would have been another who had worn the Ring of the Lucii after King Regis’ death? 

“Perhaps, it would be prudent to allow a chance at another?” The chilling voice crept through the Citadel like frost on a chilly morning. “What is the King of Kings without his Oracle at his side?” The frosty voice continued.

Bahamut was silent as considered this. While he thought, a hand as cold as ice stroked down the back of the smallest messenger. 

“The Oracle still yet lives, Shiva.” Bahamut finally replied. 

“Does she?” Shiva challenged. “A broken heart is not easily mended.” Shiva’s reply was as sharp as the edge of snapped ice. “She is not long for this world, not whist her successor remains out of reach. Eos may await a King of Kings, but the Oracle cannot be delayed.”

“Very well.” Bahamut nodded and shifted his attention once more to the smallest messenger. “Fetch thy Oracle from thy world thy fetched thy Glaive.” 

The smallest messenger nodded and bounced off Shiva’s lap to run through the Citadel to complete his task.

Hopefully this would be easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys notice any typos or mistakes, or if you feel something needs to be said to me for any reason... please let me know! Also, please note that the capitalization of 'coeurl' is purposeful based on the character and what is being said/thought.


	2. THE SNIPER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry that I'm a bit late. I've been having an issue with an ear infection and some other stuff that came up. Anyways, here's the next chapter, hope you guys enjoy!

_752-V-4_

_There’s been talk of people vanishing in Gralea for a while now, but there’s been an uptick lately. Nea’s been trying to keep the talk to a minimum, but there’s fear that can’t be silenced. If the Princess made an appearance, then maybe the people could be assured, but she’s been quiet. _

_Too quiet. _

_She used to make weekly – and later, monthly – appearances to appease those of Tenebrae, to convince them to continue to send us crops and supplies lest something befalls their princess. I remember hearing her voice over the radio that our men gathered around. _

_She spoke of peace then and, to my knowledge, never again. _

_There can be no peace within our Empire while an Aldercapt sits the throne. _

_~_

Prompto’s first thought upon opening his eyes was that he was not in the World of Ruin anymore. 

The first giveaway had been the light which seemed to shine from all spaces causing a distinct lack of shadows and darkness that primarily made up the World of Ruin. And while the World of Ruin was _technically_ over considering Noctis bringing the dawn, he sincerely doubted that the dawn would have brought _this much light _already.

He sat up and looked around, his eyebrows furrowing as he took in the familiar <strike>but not</strike> sights of the Citadel. He couldn’t say what exactly about the Citadel was setting his hair on end – besides the abundance of light which shouldn’t exist. Everything _looked_ right, but was somehow still _off_ in a way that he couldn’t even begin to explain.

His first thought was on how unnervingly quiet it was. The citadel was never this quiet, not as full of people and guards as it typically was. 

More than that, it was _clean_. After ten years of abandonment, he would have expected the place to be a bit more grimy. Especially considering its _inhabitants_ over those ten long years had been monsters, daemons, and Ardyn – who was a daemon in a league all of his own.

But no, it was all… clean. As a matter of fact, everything was _perfectly pristine_ in a way that made Prompto want to just not exist so he didn’t inevitably dirty the place up.

The Citadel never felt like a place where Prompto was welcome; even after years of being Noctis’ friend, even after joining the Crownsguard. The awkward feeling of ‘not belonging’ was in full force now, and was joined by a feeling that Prompto could only describe as ‘trespassing’. 

It was _wrong_ for him to be here. 

“Oh no.” The small chirp – and it was a chirp so how had he _understood it?_ – brought his attention downwards to the small mint fox. If the color wasn’t strange enough, there was also a red crystal shard stuck in its forehead.

Prompto blinked down at it, once, twice, three times before the vague memory of Noct telling him about this particular creat – no, this _messenger_ – came to him. At one point Noctis had put decals of this creature on the car… its name started with a ‘C’, and Prompto thought it might have been Carbuncle. 

It sounded crazy enough to be correct.

“Carbuncle?” He asked, tilting his head as he continued to study it. Compared to the other Messengers that he’d met, like Umbra and Pryna, Carbuncle was a bit… abnormal. But not in a bad way; just in a ‘this is definitely a supernatural creature, aka, a messenger of the Astrals’ sort of way.

“You’re not the Oracle.” Carbuncle said, which was odd because he was about 90% certain that Noct had said Carbuncle communicated through phones. He patted his pockets down just to check if he still had his phone – he didn’t.

Then again, Prompto was still hearing this strange squeaky noise whenever it spoke so far.

Also, how in the world had Carbuncle mistaken _him_ for the _Oracle?!_ Sure, they were both blonde, but unless one counted their shared undying faith in Noctis, that was just about where their similarities ended. 

“Uhm,” He licked his lips, uncertain how exactly to reply when the messenger looked so disheartened and downtrodden. “Sorry. You can just… put me back?”

If Carbuncle was here, then this wasn’t the actual Citadel, which, in hindsight, explained _everything_. Still, if Carbuncle had summoned(?) him here, then the messenger could put him back, right? How had the messenger summoned him anyways?

And why? 

Lunafreya had passed and surely it wasn’t so difficult for a _messenger_ to call upon an Oracle that it summoned _him_ from the world of _living_. 

…

Or was he dead now somehow? Where had he been before coming here? He was more than a little alarmed to realize that he couldn’t recall. The last thing he remembered wasn’t even a memory so much as the certainty that Noctis brought back the dawn.

Carbuncle spinning around in a circle brought Prompto’s mind back to the little creature. “I cannot.” Carbuncle sniffled after a moment.

…

He was so dead. Dead. D-E-A-D, unrevivable even with a phoenix down dead. He rolled his lips and hummed, trying his hardest not to panic despite every part of his being demanding that he did so. He was going to handle this with a grace and poise to put Noctis and all his stuffy royal ancestors to shame.

“Right.” Prompto nodded. “Right,” He repeated a moment later. “Well, uhm, where am I?” Besides the afterlife, of course.

“The Citadel of Dreams.” Carbuncle’s answer wasn’t very helpful. It _told_ him where he was, but it didn’t really _explain_ where he was. Or what was going to happen now, which Prompto figured might have been his fault as he hadn’t exactly asked.

Carbuncle did another spin-around. “I suppose I could _place_ you.”

Prompto sucked at his bottom lip and nodded. “Riiiight.” He nodded slowly. “Sure, I mean, you _could_ place me, but uh, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” 

Because if he was dead then what, exactly, did that mean? 

Carbuncle blinked at him. “The Glaive wasn’t sure either, but he’s settling in alright.”

“The… glaive?” Prompto repeated uncertainly. The only certainty that he had was that a majority of the glaive had died, and the few that lived were still in Insomnia or Lestallum. So if a glaive had been placed, then that just added more proof – to Prompto at least – that he was dead.

Carbuncle nodded, which once again didn’t really answer Prompto at all. “Mmhmm. You shouldn’t _need_ to be Bonded, so there’s no need for the Bladekeeper to find out about this.”

That, Prompto decided, sounded even more worrisome than anything else the messenger had said thus far. “Uh.” Prompto stood up and took a couple of steps back away from the messenger. “I really don’t think—”

He never got a chance to continue with his thought as he tripped over something and fell backwards into sudden darkness. 

~

_752-V-9_

_They say that our current emperor used to be a good man. I’ve heard whispers that the Glacian cursed him with a heart of ice for killing her. _

_Nea says that’s hogwash. If the Aldercapts truly wanted peace, they could have called for it at any time over the past couple centuries. She agreed that the emperor used to care more for the people before his family died. Biggs still blames the Glacian, but he won’t say it in Nea’s presence. _

_He says the emperor’s family died fighting her, and that she’s to blame for everything gone wrong in our lands; the eternal winter, the emperor’s icy heart, the famine and war… everything. He thinks somehow the vanishing disease is tied to her too. _

_I’m not so sure I agree, but what do I know? _

~

Prompto woke to the cold. The type of cold that seeped through his clothes and flesh to crawl inside his bones. It reminded him all too much of times he would rather forget. The darkest – literally – moments of his trip and time with Noctis before he was taken by the crystal.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the cracked ceiling and the scattering of white flurries that twisted into the room from an unknown source. When he exhaled out, a puff of white rose from his mouth.

There were only two places that Prompto knew of that grew to be this cold: Greyshire Grotto and Niflheim. And he strongly doubted he was in the Grotto as last he knew, there were no buildings inside it besides the tomb.

He sucked in a deep breath, mentally hearing Ignis’ voice as he reminded Prompto to breath. _“Breathe in and breathe out. Rinse and repeat.”_

After a few minutes to trying to calm his frantically beating heart, he sat up, observing his surroundings. 

He was in a decrepit room with a glassless window where the snow drifted in. Sunlight, although dim from the cloud cover, streamed in through the window as well, giving Prompto a sense of hope and relief despite his surroundings. But with that hope and relief also came a crashing realization of sorrow. 

If there was sunlight, and there _was_ sunlight, then that meant dawn had broken. Which meant that Noctis had… He tested that out by reaching for the armiger, but where there was once the warmth of his oaths, bonds, and the connection of him to his king… there was nothing. 

Prompto had known going into that final battle what bringing the dawn would cause. The dawn would rise only for the Noctis to fall. 

He took a couple more breaths and tried to center himself by taking in the rest of his surroundings. Directly across from him was a dirty gray wall with dark stains and bullet holes that looked like they could have come from his direction. There was a handgun not far from him on the ground. 

In the corner of the room by the door, there was what looked to be an imperial military-grade duffle bag next to a Sagitta Rifle. 

Okay, yeah. There was too much Imperial stuff around for this to _not_ be Niflheim. 

Fuck.

Okay, well… the war was for all intents and purposes… over. The Lucis Caelum line had come to an end, as had the Aldercapt and Fleuret lines. Furthermore, everyone came together to survive the Long Night… the World of Ruin.

But that didn’t explain why he was in Niflheim, or how he had gotten here. Last he knew, he was in Insomnia, and then he was talking to Carbuncle and now he was here. In Niflheim.

He checked the handgun first, noting the number of rounds left in it before holstering it. It appeared it was his, even if it was unfamiliar. How much time had passed since the coming of dawn?

It was strange. An unknown amount of time had passed since he left the citadel and came to Niflheim – why _Niflheim _of all places!? – and yet he felt, not better, but somehow younger. He rubbed at his face and was startled to feel a distinct lack of facial hair.

…what the hell?

_“Deep breaths.”_ Imaginary Ignis reminded him. 

He climbed to his feet and headed over to the bag, ignoring the shaking of his hands as he unzipped it and rifled through it. Clothes in his size, ammo, ration bars, a flashlight, a journal and some papers that he only recognized because of the long hard hours he had spent into deciphering and decrypting them.

This was Besithia’s work. He would recognize it anywhere, especially since he worked so hard to understand it during his rare free times over the past ten years. This research had been invaluable, not only in explaining about MTs and how they were made, but also for Sonia and her research.

But this was only a snippet. A small piece of the research.

He opened up the journal, expecting more of Besithia’s work, but instead saw his own scrawled handwriting. It took him only a few minutes to realize that this too was encrypted with what looked like a version of the encryption for Besithia’s work. But what was the key?

Prompto had the sinking feeling that he should know, considering the handwriting. He closed the journal with a snap, uncertain of how exactly he felt about the implications of it, and hastily stored it back in the bag. 

He could look at that later, preferably when somewhere safer than where he was currently. The glassless window was alarming, if only because nights could be really bad in Niflheim, especially close to Gralea – and the buildings in the street definitely looked like Gralea. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t know if he was in hostile or friendly territory. 

His first priority would be to get somewhere safe, preferably before it became too dark. The dawn had come and with it the end of the daemon scourge, but he wasn’t willing to risk his life gallivanting in the dark just yet.

Ten years of darkness and daemons had conditioned him otherwise.

He hefted the bag up onto his shoulder and with only a moment of hesitation and consideration, took the Sagitta as well. 

Based on the buildings outside, he could estimate that he was about ten or more levels up, and also based on the sun’s location… he should probably stay in the building till the morning. Keeping that in mind, he ducked further into the building to look for shelter. 

The first thing that came to Prompto’s mind as he wandered around the building was that he was in a horror movie/game. The decrepit ruinous feel of the building was oddly reminiscent of something out of _Fatal Frame_ or _Silent Hill_. 

These buildings had been abandoned for a while, if the dusty debris and gaping holes in the ceilings and floors – some spanning multiple levels – were anything to go by. The world was unnaturally quiet, like it was holding its breath as he explored.

He checked the rooms along the hallway every so often, trying to gauge which, if any, were acceptable places for him to stay. More often than not, he saw either empty rooms like the one he woke in or decaying furniture. Most of the windows were broken or glassless.

He bypassed those rooms. 

Cor would never forgive him if he chose to place safety in such an unsecured room. Especially when he didn’t know where exactly he was or how he came to be here. As the sun dipped lower, he noticed that only buildings in the far distance flare to life with light. The buildings across the street or beside his remained dark and foreboding.

He finally came across an office of sorts judging by the two mostly study looking desks in the room. The window was cracked but it was in the best condition of any of the windows he’d seen thus far. It took a little bit of work to move the desks to barricade the door and window.

He wasn’t interested in anyone sneaking up on him while he rested. He kept the flashlight on as he settled on the floor with his back to a wall. He grabbed one of the ration bars to munch on, scrunching his nose up at the taste. It wasn’t Ignis’ cooking, but he’d make do. 

He pulled out the journal, hoping that if he could just figure out it’s code, it could explain what exactly was happening and how he got here. He wrote it so it had to have something useful in it, right?

Prompto wasn’t exactly sure when he fell asleep, but he was definitely aware of when he woke. The hair on the back of his neck and arms was standing on ends, and although the flashlight remained on, the room felt _darker_ somehow. 

There was this growing sense of unease that plucked at Prompto’s nerves. 

The dawn had come, and the daemons should have been purged from the land. _There shouldn’t be daemons anymore._ This was just a product of Prompto’s paranoia caused by ten years of living in the dark. 

Somewhere in the building he was in, there was a clatter of stone falling. He remembered the bullet holes and the dark stains in the wall where he woke; the feeling of unease seemed to swell. 

He reached for his handgun first, making sure it was loaded and ready _just in case_. 

The clattering sound repeated, this time accompanied by the skitter of claws against stone and the low gurgling giggle of _snagas_. Claws scratched against the wood of his barricade. 

This wasn’t possible. The daemons should be _gone_. Noctis had _died _to bring back the dawn and eradicate them from Eos. Had that been for _nothing_?! Had Noctis _died_ in _vain_?

It wasn’t fear that kept Prompto up all night, his body shaking as he stared at the doorway, but anger.

The sounds of the snagas died out as the sun started to peek over the buildings of Gralea.

Prompto wasted no time in ensuring his stuff was packed up before removing the barricade and hightailing it out of there. Speed was of the essence now and he didn’t waste any time in using some of the ‘shortcuts’ provided by the holes in the levels. 

The faster he was out of the building, the better. Especially as the sunlight couldn’t completely penetrate the building. He was willing to bet those snaga were still around and he was not interested in meeting them.

He tossed down his bag onto the ground level before jumping down himself. Sunlight streamed into the lobby he was standing in, nearly bright enough to temporarily blind him. 

In the darkness located further back in the lobby, near where the elevators used to be, something shifted; the noise of it causing all of Prompto’s muscles to tense and the alarm sirens to go off in his head. The sensation of eyes on him propelled Prompto to pick up his bag and practically launch himself out into the snow-covered streets.

He was _not_ interested in seeing what the hell was lurking in there.

He knew now why the buildings were abandoned, and the reason started with ‘d’.

_~_

_752-V-12_

_The talk of the vanishing disease spreads as widely and quickly as the disease itself. The snippets of research I’ve found from some of the bases we’ve looted mentions it briefly, but not enough. I need to know more. _

_The __Verstael_ _Besithia_ _guy from my snippets seems like as good a place to start than any. _

_I know Nea worries about me and the science sector. She worries any time I’m sent on a mission to the research faculties. Although, it’s unclear if her worry stems from where she found me or the barcode on my wrist that grants me free access in said faculties. _

_It may be arrogant for me to assume as much, but I feel that the answers I seek will help our people. _

_~_

Trudging through the knee-high snow in the streets of Gralea was not the quickest way to travel. Nor was it stealthiest. The untouched snow had been allowed to melt, refreeze, and compact, causing it to hide slick patches of slippery ice underneath. Additionally, with the snow being untouched, his tracks were far too obvious. 

Prompto would take the safety of the blinding snow than the darkened paths along the presumably daemon infested buildings. 

All around him spoke of the same desolate abandonment as the building he woke in. 

He stopped when the sun was at its highest at what might have been a plaza at one point. The picnic tables made a good perch for him to eat another ration bar and study the journal for a bit as he rested. The surrounding buildings groaned as wind tore through them, the ominous noise sounding like a warning for him to leave the city.

A warning he was more than willing to heed.

He eyed the buildings wearily before deciding the event to be natural and not daemonic and returned to his bar and journal.

As far as he could tell, the code for _his_ journal was the encryption code for Besithia’s. Which was actually really brilliant of him. If someone wanted to get into his stuff, they would first have to know Besithia’s encryption and then how to turn _that _into a key for his.

Sneaky, sneaky. 

Now what was so important that he had to hide it behind _that_?

He started with the first page, wishing he had a second journal that he could use to transcribe what exactly he was translating. Especially since he had to keep going back to Besithia’s code to verify and validate the journal.

And he needed to validate and verify the journal because what he was reading so far, if he understood correctly, _made no sense at all_. 

M.E. 752. The journal claimed it was M.E. 752.

Astrals, in M.E. 752 he was in high school in Insomnia with Noctis, not in Gralea! 

The buildings groaned again and Prompto looked up, his eyes narrowing as he thought he saw a flash of _something_ in the depths of the one closest to him. Time to pack up then. If he was attracting attention – and when wasn’t he? If it wasn’t _Noctis_ attracting daemons, then it was _him_ – then he needed to get a move on.

He quickly repacked the journal and started his journey again. He raised a hand to look up at the sky, trying to gauge the position of the sun and how long exactly he had until nightfall. Best guesstimate was a couple hours. But this was _Niflheim_ and there were _daemons_ around, so who really knew?

When the sun started to dip lower than Prompto was comfortable with, he started looking for a shelter. Sure, the buildings were likely teeming with daemons, but it was better to be somewhere enclosed that he could secure than out in the open. 

He finally settled on a building that appeared to at least have electricity and working lights. 

He still kept the flashlight on. 

Daemons knew light was dangerous and they could be pretty inventive about turning them off. Although, compared to the buildings further in the district, this one looked considerably less derelict. At the very least there was furniture, complete floors, and unbroken glass.

As the sun finished setting, he could hear the skitter of daemons outside the room he holed himself in, but so long as they didn’t get in… he should be fine. Well, let him reiterate that. So long as they didn’t get in, _they’d _be fine. 

Because if they did get in, then they’d be getting a bullet to the face.

He munched on another ration bar as he examined the room he was in, picking up various papers that all confirmed the year that he had seen in his journal. M.E. 752.

Astrals. 

What the fuck was happening?

He glanced to his bag – which was resting on the sole table Prompto hadn’t used as a barricade – and after a moment of hesitation, pulled out all the ammo and materials he had for his weapons. If he was going to be in a daemon infested area for any length of time, he better make sure his weapons were up to par.

The last he needed was to have his weapon jam from lack of maintenance in the middle of a fight.

When he finished that, he pulled out the journal. This thing held the answers, whether Prompto wanted to believe them or not. 

And he didn’t want to believe them, because if this thing was right… then it really was M.E. 752 and Prompto wasn’t in Insomnia or even Lucis because he hadn’t been saved. But then why was he here and not an MT?

He glanced down at the gloved hand where his barcode was hidden and after a few moments of hesitation, peeled the glove to see that yes, he still had his barcode. So he had still been created for the MT program.

So why was he not an MT if he hadn’t been ‘stolen’ by Lucian spies?

He flipped back to the beginning of the journal to confirm that it was only for M.E. 752, which meant the answers to those particular questions probably wouldn’t be found in this journal. It also meant that somewhere there was probably a journal that _did_.

The ‘Nea’ person was mentioned more than a few times, and sounded like something of a guardian or sister to him, so, if anyone would know, it was probably her. 

But what was he supposed to do? Just go up to her and be like, “yeah, hey… I’m a Prompto from a different… world? Reality? Place? Anyways, I’m not _your_ Prompto, but could you tell me his story so I can continue to live here since I can’t go back according to a magical mint fox messenger?”

That would go over _so_ well.

And he was pretty sure he couldn’t go back. Carbuncle had said as much, and had ‘placed’ him here instead. Because apparently ‘placed’ meant sticking him in the body(?) of this world’s Prompto(?) and leaving him to sort it all out.

…

UGH, this was all so messed up. So very, very , very messed up. It was M.E. _752,_ and didn’t that explain _everything_. There was dawn and sunlight because the Long Night/World of Ruin had not happened yet. There were daemons because Noctis had not yet brought back the dawn and ‘cleared our star of its scourge’ or whatever.

“What a Mess.” Prompto muttered to himself. 

Okay, okay, okay. Priorities. 

First and foremost was obviously the World of Ruin. He needed to either a) stop or b) delay that. Which meant that he needed to find Lunafreya and make sure that she survived. Her death was basically a herald of the beginning of the World of Ruin.

Second, he needed to warn Insomnia. 

He just needed to get out of Niflheim, somehow make it over the sea to Lucis, get past the border, and somehow make it to Noctis or King Regis to warn them about what was going to happen.

Easy peasey.

…

Okay, yeah. He was dead.

If the escape didn’t kill him, then trying to get over the border certainly would. Not to mention fighting the Glai… THE GLAIVE! Carbuncle had said something about a Glaive not being too sure about being ‘placed’ as well.

If a glaive had been placed as well then that meant Prompto wasn’t entirely alone here. There was someone else from – hopefully – his world. Glaive usually meant Kingsglaive, and if that was accurate then maybe he had a chance after all.

Of course, if he found Lunafreya first, then he definitely had a chance because there was no way that he would be turned away with her. 

Cool. Okay. So step one: find Lunafreya. Step two: go to Lucis. Step three: resume serving his king.

Because Niff or not, Prompto’s king would always be _Noctis_. He would lay down his life, gladly and willingly, for his friend and king. He would live, gladly and willingly, for his king.

This might not have been the same Noctis, but that didn’t mean that Prompto was going to make him go through the same pain and suffering that his Noctis had. 

He nodded to himself, his resolution set, and resumed reading the journal. If he was going to pull this off, then he needed to know how to be _this_ Prompto, and this journal, and any others this Prompto may have made, were the key to that. 

The lights flickering a couple hours later was pretty much Prompto’s only clue to start packing up his stuff and prepare to fight for the rest of the night. It still looked dark outside, but less so than earlier. A couple hours of fighting maybe before the sun would rise and allow him a moment of rest.

And then he needed to get the hell out of this city.

There was an all too familiar screech of snagas as the lights flickered again. Prompto readied his handgun – having reloaded it after packing away his stuff – and readjusted his bag’s position. He wasn’t far from the street.

He just needed to make it to the street, survive until the sun rose and then let the sunlight and reflection from the snow take care of the rest.

Astrals, this was going to be fun in the same way getting a lecture from Cor – again – was fun.

The lights flickered one final time before dying out. “This is why you stay with the generator.” Prompto muttered as he instinctually fired in the direction of the swirling miasma of darkness. There was an enraged screech from a snaga. 

Well, that snaga was about to be even more pissed off in a second. He pointed the gun up and, despite the ceiling, fired a starshell. 

It erupted into light against the ceiling, almost blinding in its intensity, sending various dark forms screaming. “Burns, don’t it?” He asked them, taking their momentary stun as a chance to remove the barricade – Cor always said to make sure one didn’t trap themselves behind their barricade – and dart out of the building and into the street.

_~_

_752-V-20_

_I’ve been thinking of peace lately. _

_My only knowledge of it comes from the vague memory of the Princess’ only speech on it, and Nea’s reluctant words. She thinks peace might be possible if someone other than an Aldercapt sat the throne. _

_An Aldercapt has sat the throne since the founding of the Empire, but it’s time for one of the other Great Houses. I am weary of Tummelt or Ulldor. Glauca too, I think, would be a mistake. The last of the Great Houses has fallen from the grace of the Aldercapts, but with the scion of the House of Glauca endorsing her, Nea may be able to take the throne. _

_Peace will be hard to obtain with all the Aldercapts have done these past hundred years, but it’s worth a try. If we can obtain peace with our northern neighbor, then perhaps that can be used to usher in a peace across the world. _

_Tenebrae has always been close with Lucis, and if there is any we should fear, it is the Kingdom of Light._

_~_

Playing hide-n-go-seek with daemons in the dark sounded as fun as the actual exercise was. Daemons always had issues with Prompto, seeking him and Noctis out more than Ignis or Gladio. It made the World of Ruin more perilous than it really needed to be, but it had also forced Prompto to get better.

He had to live for his King. He had to live to see Noctis again.

This was no different. 

He exhaled deeply but quietly, taking just a moment to lean against the building that made up the alley he was hiding in. Were there only snagas waiting for him, then he might have been fine to survive until the dawn. 

Had he potions or elixirs or access to the armiger – the armiger he didn’t have; not because Noctis was gone along with the crystal and magic, but because he _didn’t know Prompto _– then he would have been fine to survive until dawn despite the other daemons out and about.

Unfortunately for him, he was alone without access to potions, elixirs, or the armiger; and there was more than just snagas. 

Uttu were the _worst_. Creepy crazy spider ladies who could summon even creepier smaller spider minions. He was pretty sure that he lost the uttu, but that didn’t mean he was out of trouble yet. He wouldn’t be safe until the sun rose, and even then, safe was debatable.

Considering he was in Pre-Long Night Niflheim.

…

He hit his head lightly against the building. He had to get his head straight. Now was not the time to be thinking about his predicament. Not when he was in legitimate _danger_. He still had his Sagitta, although his duffle bag had been lost in his scramble to escape the Uttu.

Never before had he missed the armiger than he did right now. 

The journal, arguably the most important thing in the bag, was thankfully tucked into his jacket. He had mostly skimmed over the earlier parts and had gotten a decent chunk finished of what was probably the more relevant parts. Still, he wasn’t keen to lose it just yet.

Deciding it safe to continue as silence seemed to stretch, he peeked out of his hiding place and cautiously stepped out of the alley into the street. 

Nothing.

He frowned. Niflheim at night in a clearly daemonified section of the city and nothing was attacking him? That wasn’t right. 

He found out why a few minutes later as the sound of panicked gunfire cracked through the air. 

He hesitated, debating whether or not go to check it out for only a second before heading for the noise. He was a Crownsguard, a retainer of King Noctis, and a survivor of the Long Night/World of Ruin. He couldn’t, in good faith, leave someone to the daemons, Niff or not. Not when he was here and could do _something_. 

The source was in another alley. He skidded to a stop, sliding on the ice beneath the already disturbed snow. A reaper readied its scythe, an unfortunate male figure its intended target.

Not today. 

He fired two shots into the reaper’s ‘face’ sending it into a vulnerable state. The world darkened as he tunnel-vision-ed on the daemon. Time seemed to slow down as magic of his own sort swelled up inside for him to performed a crack shot. In its vulnerable state, the move was enough to send the daemon back down the alley, giving him precious time to yank the daemon’s victim away by the scruff of their jacket.

“Let’s go!” He shouted.

The man stumbled, both a result of him trying to spin around to look at Prompto and also from Prompto yanking him. “Prompto?!” The man shouted. 

Oh. He _‘knew_’ this person. Great. Fantastic. Just. What. He. Needed.

“Not the time!” He replied. The daemon recovered and surged forward. Well, Prompto wasn’t in the mood to be accosted by a reaper today, and did what any person should do in his situation: he fired a starshell right into it. The reaper screamed as the light burst out at essentially point blank. It died with a painful noise, no doubt attracting others to avenge it. 

Like rodents, where there was one daemon, there were typically more. Especially so in the case of reapers, snagas, goblins, hobgoblins, and other ‘pack’ or ‘group’ like daemons.

Not to mention there was that uttu from earlier. He didn’t know where she disappeared off to, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she popped back up as a result of the loud gunfire.

“We have to go before others show up.” Prompto informed mystery idiot as he checked his ammo and tried to determine how screwed they were.

“Others?” The man repeated, climbing to his feet and staring at Prompto with wide eyes. Prompto spared a second to study him, to see if _anything_ about this man seemed familiar. There wasn’t. “There’s more in the city?”

“Dude, this whole sector’s daemonified.” Prompto replied, turning on his heel and heading away. He wasn’t going to wait for any others to show up. He was not going to be a snack for a daemon today, nope. Not happening.

He had _stuff_ to do. Stuff he couldn’t do if he was chewed up in the belly of a daemon. Or worse, a daemon himself. 

“This is _Gralea_.” The man jogged up to him and matched his stride. 

Prompto snorted. “Yeah, and?” He asked. He noted that the snow was still disturbed. Was this where the man had come from? That might be good for them, if only because it probably headed into civilization or at least a better lit area.

He squinted up at the sky, trying to see if he could gauge where the moon was and just how many more hours of night they had to deal with. The cloud cover and gently falling snow was as unhelpful as always. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, the sudden feeling of _eyes_ falling upon him and he froze for just a second before pushing the guy – he really needed to get a name for him – out of the way as the uttu from before swung through the street with one of her unwanted lightning attacks.

“I hate bugs.” Prompto muttered as he rolled off the guy and into a crouch, using that position to spring back to his feet and shoot at her. “I said no earlier, Lady,” Prompto shouted up at her. “No means no.” 

She screamed back at him and he promptly – haha – shot at her. Starshell wasn’t ready to be used again so soon, and unless she was vulnerable, he couldn’t perform a crackshot. Ugh. If only Noctis or Ignis were here. These ladies never liked Fire or Light magic – which Noctis had in spades provided he wasn’t in _stasis_.

Then again, if he had Noctis, none of this would be an issue anyway because _he would have access to the astral-damned armiger!_

Gunfire other than his own echoed in the night and he realized, a tad belatedly, that the man he had rescued was now also shooting at the uttu. “Careful! She’s got nasty children!” Prompto warned the guy. “Lady doesn’t seem to understand the concept of ‘consent’.” 

“I wouldn’t call this a Lady.” A new voice joined in, and there was the additional beautiful noise of a Rapidus SMG. Prompto glanced over at the newbie long enough to take in the similar clothes to both himself and the other unnamed guy – now dubbed Guy1. Guy2 packed some heat, which was exactly what was needed for this fight.

Take that spider queen.

“Hey, show a queen some respect.” Prompto playfully chided as he avoided one of her attacks. The build of magic was almost enough to pull a starshell, but it wasn’t quite there. Not yet. A little longer and then he could shoot it at her – again – and run like hell – again – to escape.

“The hell are you on about?” Guy2 shouted. 

“As the strongest subspecies of arachne,” Prompto started to explain before he noticed a reaper form to the side of Guy2. He grimaced and slid underneath Guy2’s machine gun fire – causing the guy to let out a startled yell before – before popping back up to physically smack the reaper aside and fire three consecutive times before it turned back into a swirl of miasma. “I think all uttu deserve the title of spider queen.” He finished, turning his attention back on her to fire a starshell.

She screeched loud enough for the newbies to stop and clasp their hands over their ears, but Prompto knew better. That screech meant a short window of vulnerability. Hello opportunity, meet crackshot. That should distract her for just a few more moments.

“Time to go!” He shouted. 

“Go where?” Guy1 shouted back.

“Away from here!” Prompto shouted back. Like, duh? Obviously they were going _away_ from crazy spider queen daemon. What did he expect? For them to just stick around to become her spider food? No. Thanks. Prompto so wasn’t interested.

Huh. It was actually kind of funny. For as different as this place seemed to be compared to what he was used to… fighting daemons was pretty much the same.

The two kept up with him as he ran, flanking him in a way reminiscent to how he would usually be flanked by his friends. Behind them, Spider Queen let out a screech of fury. 

And that was a sign to duck into an alley and hope and pray to all the Astrals, even Ifrit, that no daemons spawned where they were hiding.

Prompto practically collapsed against the wall of the alley, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment as he panted and tried to catch his breath. Guy1 and 2 were no better as Guy1 collapsed onto the ground while 2 just rested his hands on his knees.

“What the fuck, Prom?” Guy1 managed between pants. “Where’s your fucking team?”

Team? Oh, well, that explained the fact that Prompto’s attire matched theirs. They were probably in the same… organization? It was unclear what exactly he was a part of in the journal, but he was about 90% certain it wasn’t the Niflheim infantry. 

Mostly because he was 90% certain that if he were in the infantry, he would be a MT right now. 

“Probably daemons.” Prompto replied, opening his eyes a crack to look down at Guy1. In the distance the uttu screeched again. It sounded like she was heading away, which was good. Very good. Unless there was something ‘scarier’ out there that was causing her to retreat. “Or dead.” He added after a moment. “I hope they’re dead. Daemonification seems like it’d suck.”

Both Guy1 and 2 stared at him like he was completely crazy. He ignored this. It didn’t sound like there was something worse out and about, but he was hesitant to just hope that the uttu was it. He didn’t exactly have any wood to knock on. 

“How long till sunrise?” He asked, bouncing off the wall. “The longer we stay in one place, the more likely we’ll be caught, and I really don’t want to find out if the uttu is the worst thing out here.”

“There’s worse?” Guy1 asked. 

Prompto thought first of the World of Ruin, then of all the various daemons he encountered with Noctis, including Melusine, and then finally of Ardyn. His face must have betrayed something because both Guy1 and 2 exchanged clearly nervous looks before Prompto replied, “Much worse. We should get going. Staying here will get us caught and getting caught means we’re dead.” 

They exchanged more nervous looks before following Prompto out of the alley. He stuck close to the walls. Being out in the middle of the street was great for the daytime, but at night it might as well as been a death sentence. Especially since an uttu could just swoop down at any moment.

Guy1 was apparently some guy named Benzo while Guy2 was Berrik. He found this out by listening to them talk quietly amongst themselves as the sun finally started to rise.

The only other encounters had thankfully been small fry: reapers and snaga. A fact Prompto was thankful for if only because he was steadily running low on ammo and without his duffle bag, there was almost no chance of a reload. 

Thankfully, it seemed he wouldn’t need a reload. Before him was the most shoddy quarantine barrier he had ever seen. It wasn’t even guarded. 

Still, it was good to see that despite how shoddy it was, the people of Gralea were at least _attempting_. It was more than he could say for other places.

He slipped past the barrier, and looked at Berrik and Benzo, about to ask them where to next now that they were out of the danger zone when a hand landed firmly on his shoulder. He responded as anyone would and grabbed the person’s wrist while kicking out to unbalance them and essentially using their own weight to toss them over his shoulder and onto the ground. His handgun was in his hand and pointed at the guy’s face before his mind could register that he _knew_ this person.

“Boss!” Both Berrik and Benzo shouted, but neither of them made a move to actually touch Prompto. 

Which was for the best considering what a shock seeing Wedge was. Well, not so much seeing Wedge but seeing how young he looked. Because that was undeniable proof of what had happened. Reality all seemed to crash down upon Prompto at once. He really was in the past. An _alternate _past, at that.

Astrals.

This wasn’t possible. All of this was like something out of a video game or anime, and if anything like this were to happen, it wouldn’t happen to _Prompto_ of all people.

Then again, Carbuncle had thought he was the Oracle, or so Prompto could assume based off the whole ‘you’re not the Oracle’ comment. So maybe it wasn’t _supposed_ to happen to Prompto but to Lunafreya? But it didn’t really matter who it was meant to happen to when it was obviously happening to _him_ now. 

He released Wedge with a strangled sort of laugh, stepping back away from him and shaking his head. Fuck. This was just so… crazy.

And if these two had called Wedge ‘boss’ then that meant that they were with Aranea, and if he was with them, then he was with Aranea too. Wait. Aranea. Ara-nea. Nea. His journal. Nea was Aranea in his journal. 

Oh. 

Oh shit.

He recognized that the three of them were talking, presumably to him, but they all sounded muffled and underwater. Daemon hunting was one thing. It was easy and simple and the _same_. But this? Dealing with the world that was so like his own but _not_? 

He’d rather face off the uttu alone again.

“Prompto!” Wedge’s hand was reached out to him, but wasn’t touching him. Ignis would have touched him. Would have rested his hands on Prompto and pulled him back to the world with reminders to breath or that he was safe.

He was willing to bet that Noctis would have been good at this too. Once he got over his own panic at the situation. 

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for even _Gladio’s _comfort and support; and everyone knew Gladio was shit at this type of stuff.

The world blurred and warped, and it was only after Wedge had engulfed him in a hug big enough to rival one of Gladio’s that Prompto realized that he was crying. Someone took the gun from his hand, and he let it go without a fuss. His body was shaking as he pressed into Wedge, his hands finding and clinging onto Wedge’s jacket as he cried. 

He was a thirty something year old man, he shouldn’t be crying. Not for something like this, but he was. Stupid seventeen-year-old body. Stupid Astrals and messengers and…

Fuck.

“What the hell happened to you kid?” Wedge asked, alternating between rubbing and patting Prompto’s back. After a moment of Prompto’s silence he shook his head. “Let’s get you home.”

And fuck if that didn’t start another fresh wave of tears because home should have been Insomnia. It should have been Insomnia with his king on his throne as the sun rose upon their kingdom, promising a new era of light and happiness and…

His king was gone. Noctis was gone. _“Ever by your side,”_ Prompto had promised him, but now he was here, alone in a strange new world with people he recognized but didn’t know. 

Noctis was gone. Ignis was gone. Gladio was gone. Everyone was Gone, except for some random glaive that Prompto didn’t even know and had no way of communicating with. 

Wedge pulled away and undid his jacket to wrap it around Prompto, and then with his hand still on his back, started to guide him through the city until they came to a train station. 

“We’ll have to discard the weapons.” Wedge informed the others. “Security’s been upped… again.”

It felt wrong to be getting on a train, especially after his first – that he knew of – and last time on a train had ended so horribly. Heck, it had _started_ horribly too. 

Trains brought nothing but pain and misunderstandings. But how could he convey this to this Wedge? This Wedge who was so alike to the one he knew but _not_. _This_ Prompto probably rode the train often. It was one of the easier methods of transport in the Empire.

He shouldn’t have any objections to the train, and, to be honest, he was too tired – mentally, emotionally, physically – to even think to object. 

There were announcements about the train stations and trains that played at random intervals with a brisk woman’s voice, reminding them about informing security about suspicious activity and various arrival/departure times.

Wedge kept glancing at him, but didn’t say anything more to him. 

Prompto wasn’t sure if the silence was a good sign or not.

_~_

_752-V-26_

_Nea has to oversee a mission. It’ll be long term, so she’s set Biggs in charge of HQ in case something befalls her. Wedge is set to be sent on his own mission, and for as much as it pains Nea, I too have been given a task._

_It’s a recon mission to Gralea to check on the rumors of the vanishing disease. _

_I can tell she’s weary about sending me, but there is no one else. The numbers of those she trusts is spread thin. _

_This is an opportunity. I can see if I can gather more of Besithia’s research, and also look for any news of the Princess. Nea might be able to barter the news for assistance from Tenebrae. The only ones who can match the Tenebraen disdain for the Empire is Lucis. _

_Lucis will not help us. Titus is certain of that._

_~_

There weren’t many people on the train and finding an empty carriage wasn’t difficult. It was more difficult for Prompto to get over being weaponless. For ten years, lacking a weapon was essentially a death sentence and now he was trapped without any. 

If he had access to the armiger, it would have made everything so much easier. All he would have needed to do was just _reach_ and a weapon would be there. Instead, whenever he instinctually _reached_ all he got was _nothing_.

No warmth of Noctis’ magic. No chill from the crystalline shards of magic. No tingle of magic. Nothing.

He shuddered and pulled Wedge’s jacket closer as he attempted his best impression of a turtle hiding in their shell. In this case, the shell being Wedge’s jacket. Wedge’s jacket was good for that, at least.

It dwarfed Prompto, making him feel like a small child playing dress up with his father’s clothes. A sensation Prompto was more than familiar with. It was easy to play with his ‘parent’s’ clothes when they were never around to tell him ‘no’. 

And who knew, maybe in this backwards strange world, Wedge was something of a makeshift father for him. He was mentioned – along with Biggs and Aranea – a few times in the journal now that Prompto was properly reading through it all. 

But no matter how much of a father this Wedge might be, Prompto was certain he wouldn’t hold a candle when compared to Cor. No one could be better than Cor.

Not that Prompto would ever get to see his hero/father-figure again. At least, not the hero/father-figure that he knew. The Cor he knew was long gone, left behind in a decaying world. Not that Prompto could be too mad: Cor was needed there. There was no one better – besides Noctis – to lead the people.

Wedge was sitting with the others a couple feet away. Close enough that Wedge could keep an eye on him, but distant enough that he could talk with Berrik and Benzo without Prompto overhearing. Well, distant enough that most people wouldn’t overhear.

But ten years of darkness and danger had trained Prompto far more than the Crownsguard ever could. Alert ears saved lives. Alert everything saved lives. Constant vigilance, while exhausting, saved lives.

“Where’s the rest of his team?” Wedge asked Berrik and Benzo. 

The two shifted uneasily. Benzo pointed looked out a window, but Prompto got the strangest feeling that he was watching Prompto out of the reflection. Maybe that was just Prompto’s paranoia; maybe it wasn’t.

Berrik made no attempt at hiding his staring. 

“Perhaps you should be asking Prompto, sir.” Berrik replied hesitantly after a couple of minutes of silence. 

“You said there was no point in returning to the sector to look for them, so you know something.” Wedge crossed his arms and gave them a _Look™._ Prompto snorted and when Wedge looked at him, nestled his head in the jacket and made himself appear busy with his journal.

After a couple of minutes of silence – beyond the occasional reminder over the PA system – Berrik cleared his throat. “Prompto had some interesting theories.” 

_Theories_. That was some bullshit if Prompto ever heard any. _Theories_. He didn’t have a _theory_ as to where the team went. If they weren’t with him now, then they were either dead or a daemon. Plain and simple. No _theory_ about that.

The uttu’s presence was alarming and indictive of the strong daemonic energy in that sector. 

“Interesting?” Benzo repeated, he have up on his staring contest with the window to look over at Berrik with one of the flattest looks Prompto had ever seen. “He claimed them to be dead or daemons. Like people turn into those things.” He scoffed, like Prompto was crazy for claiming the truth.

The truth was that daemons were born from people and animals infected with the Starscourge.

The Oracle could heal to some degree, but once it reached a certain point… there was nothing to be done. The only true way to rid the planet of the daemons was for the King of Kings to cleanse the world. Apparently through his death.

And while Prompto would do everything in his power to make sure that Noctis could fulfill his duty, he would also do everything in his power to keep Noctis alive and happy. It was the least Noctis deserved.

“_Daemons_?” Wedge repeated. “Where did he get _that _idea from?”

“Beats me.” Benzo shrugged. “I was just looking around for him, found a daemon and would have died had it not been for him.” He paused and glanced again at Prompto. “He fired _light_ at it, and it was enough for us to escape.”

…

Did this world’s Prompto not have starshell? Or was that an ability that he kept from the others? Why? It was invaluable, especially against daemons. 

“And then we found the spider.” Benzo continued with shudder. His face twisted into something akin to disgust, not that Prompto could blame him. 

“You found the what?” Wedge asked, furrowing his eyebrows like he wasn’t sure what exactly Benzo was saying. “A spider?” Or maybe he had heard correctly and was just making sure of it. 

Prompto couldn’t blame him. He would probably react the same if someone was trying to tell him about the encounter without knowing what an uttu was. Then again, Prompto also hated bugs – of any kind – and would probably understand even if said ‘spider’ wasn’t a toxic electrocuting spider-lady of doom.

“He called it an utturo.” Berrik <strike>unhelpfully and </strike>incorrectly added. “Said it was the strongest of some subspecies. Archne, I think.”

…

These people legitimately didn’t know jack about daemons.

…

They were going to die.

…

Obviously Prompto needed to fix that. And there was no better time to start than now. Even if he was trying to keep a somewhat moderately low profile – about being from a different world at least. 

“Uttu and arachne.” Prompto corrected. Once more everyone’s head jerked to him. He snapped the journal closed and looked Wedge in the eye, ignoring Berrik and Benzo. “How long was I gone? It was hard to keep track of the days.” Which wasn’t far from the truth; the later journal entries had no dates attached.

“It’s been nearly a month since you set out.” Wedge informed him. “I came to check up on you once I finished up.”

“And Nea?” Prompto asked. The nickname for Aranea felt as strange in his mouth as it was to hear. He never had the privilege of calling her something so… personal. If it wasn’t for the journal indicating a more sibling-esque relationship, he would be afraid they were more romantic in nature. 

Which like, Aranea was a beautiful woman. She really was, but… there was more to a relationship than just attraction. He had other people in mind, once upon a time. Now, however… there was no point in thinking about it.

Unless he found a _connection_ with someone he completely didn’t know, he wouldn’t be able to look at some of these people and _not_ see the person from his world. And even then… he wasn’t sure he would be able to be with someone. His heart was sworn to another; tied by oaths and bonds and promises. 

“She doesn’t know. Radio silence on while she’s away.” Wedge answered. “She’ll be happy to see you when she gets back.” 

Prompto made a noncommittal noise and after a few moments of silence, Wedge cleared his throat.

“What’s this the boys were telling me about daemons and your team?” 

Prompto studied Wedge for a good moment, his eyes narrowing in thought. 

If Wedge was telling the truth, then that meant it was 752-VII, which meant that Prompto had three years and some change to make a difference before the ‘peace treaty’ that ended Insomnia. 

Three years to prevent the Long Night, the World of Ruin, and save Noctis, Lunafreya, and countless others. He had _future_ knowledge. Knowledge about the world and daemons and the Empire that they couldn’t and wouldn’t have yet.

Then again, he was in a different world… it was entirely possible that the knowledge he had wasn’t accurate. After all, he was in Niflheim instead of Insomnia.

But so far… the knowledge he had of daemons seemed to be correct, and he had already made the resolution to share that. He could claim to have come across the information in the ‘missing’ month. 

“This isn’t the place to be talking about it.” Prompto said, frowning at Wedge. He would share his knowledge on daemons, even if others thought him crazy for it, but this wasn’t the place. Not when civilians could walk in at any moment.

Wedge frowned. “Did you—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “We’ll talk later.” He promised Prompto. Prompto nodded, expecting nothing different. He would be more surprised if they _didn’t_ talk to him about his time in Gralea. 

Which meant Prompto really needed to reread the latest entries in the journal and familiarize himself with what this world’s Prompto did before… yeah. Dark thoughts.

This world’s Prompto was dead, and he was… ugh. Yeah, no. Prompto wasn’t going to go down that dark and twisted road. No, no, no. Not going there.

…

So not going there.

He reopened the journal and turned back to the entry he was last on. This world’s Prompto didn’t always write about what was going on, but his thoughts which was… nice but not always helpful. Especially since Prompto would need to know what he was _doing_, not what he was _thinking_.

He flipped to some of the later entries, rereading over those as they would be the most prominent. It seemed that this world’s Prompto – and that was getting to be a mouthful, not that he was actually saying that – was sent to find information on the Vanishing Disease and well, wasn’t that just Prompto’s luck?

Okay, yeah. He had this in the bag. This was going to be a cakewalk.

_~_

_752-VI-2_

_Portions of Gralea are a ghost town. There are crude quarantine measures around the most abandoned sectors. Security has been increased. MT presence is stronger than ever. We will need to stay in these abandoned sectors if we wish to remain undetected. _

_The small team with me feels as equally uneasy about entering such areas. Some of them have been abandoned long enough to fall into disrepair, yet civilians claim that _something _still lives among the ruins._

_It feels too optimistic to hope for survivors. I fear it is something worse._

~

Prompto’s earlier confidence was soundly shot down by the image of Aranea casually waiting for them inside the seemingly abandoned building that Wedge called ‘Home’. 

Speaking of Aranea… his journal had been less than forthcoming in information on her. Why had she defected from Niflheim? Had she actually defected or was she running a resistance/rebellion-eqsue operation on the side? Who was she working for? Was she still a mercenary? 

Now that he knew ‘Nea’ meant Aranea… what had that one entry meant about Nea taking the throne if Glauca (and didn’t that name leave a sour taste in his mouth) endorsed her? Was Glauca a traitor to the empire?

Too many questions, not enough answers. 

And with the sharp way Aranea was looking at them, he didn’t think he would be getting them anytime soon. Her hand rested on her cocked hip, the clawed tips of her glove – how did she not cut herself on those – tapping against the armored bits of her outfit, creating a quiet repetitive ‘tink’ noise with every tap.

Her gaze was hard as she looked at Wedge and the other two, but it softened as she looked at Prompto. No doubt she noticed the lack of ‘team’, but that didn’t seem to stop the slope of her shoulders as she minutely relaxed in relief.

“Lady A!” Wedge spoke first, his startled tone matching the wideness of his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting—” He cut himself off after a sharp cutting look from Aranea. 

“You two, head to debriefing.” She addressed Berrik and Benzo and waited until they disappeared behind doors before turning her attention back to Wedge and Prompto. “Prom, it’s good to see you safe.” 

“Lady A—”

“I should have been informed immediately.” Aranea snapped at Wedge. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze flickered between Prompto and Wedge. “Where’s the rest of his team?”

Wedge opened his mouth to reply, but Prompto cut him off before he could. “Dead, if they’re lucky.” Her gaze snapped back to him and her mouth twisted into something that could have been a frown if one used imagination. “If they aren’t… then they’re daemons.”

He had spent the time on the train to formulate something akin to a game plan – Iggy would be so proud of him. 

He was stuck, in the type of way that sucked in every way except the good way. He was in Niflheim from an alternative world, countless miles away from Insomnia, with only a couple years to change the future before the World of Ruin was upon them.

He couldn’t go to Insomnia. At least, not now anyways. Insomnia had never been fond of immigrants or refugees, despite how they lauded the Kingsglaive as heroes; and they were especially intolerant of Niffs. He would not be welcomed. 

And even if he did somehow manage to get to Insomnia and receive an audience with either the King or Noctis, there would be no reason for them to listen to him, let alone believe him.

So where did that leave him? 

Stuck.

So where did he go from here?

His best – and currently his only – choice was to stick with this world’s Prompto’s path. Stick with Aranea, see what was going on here and try to take down the Empire sooner. He still didn’t know what was up with the whole ‘Nea on the throne’ thing, but it was an idea that he could get behind.

Especially if she was up for ending the war.

With her on the throne, then maybe they could halt the Empire’s experiments, which should, theoretically, help halt the Long Night’s approach. No more Magitek, no more daemon research, no more Empire experiments.

Preventing Lunafreya’s death would definitely help too. Although, that would be a little more tricky to figure out. If he could figure out a way to get her to Insomnia, then _maybe_ he could be granted an audience with the king to warn him. Lunafreya might be a bit more of a priority for him since it seemed that she was currently in Niflheim, if the vague journal entries about her were true.

Not to mention he needed to spread – accurate and correct – information on the daemons. 

And of course, that all started here and now with Aranea. 

“What do you mean?” Aranea didn’t ask so much as demand. Some part of Prompto’s brain snapped to attention. He was one of the King’s Retainers and Retinue, standing before Cor and Libertus, ready to give a report on the state of the world and his mission. 

Except they would never allow a debriefing out where anyone could hear them. Especially not if a majority of a team had perished or failed.

“Would you like the debriefing here?” He asked, unsure of how exactly this all happened with Aranea’s crew. Ignis ran with her more than he had. 

Aranea frowned. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Thankfully, it seemed that when Carbuncle had ‘placed’ him, that his wounds had also been healed. Which was something Prompto was quite thankful for. And while he had battled dangerous daemons, he had gotten extremely lucky with not getting hurt.

Considerably lucky considering his lack of armiger access and therefore his lack of potions. He wasn’t Noctis. He couldn’t just make potions or elixirs out of soda or energy drinks.

“Then we can move to my office.” Aranea said. It didn’t escape his notice that she still cast a critical glance over him; no doubt looking for hidden injuries.

Her heels clicked and clacked as she led them down a hallway. Some of the doors were open, revealing either empty rooms or people sitting at desks. Some looked up as they passed, but most kept their heads down as they worked.

One of the rooms they passed by had a huge map of Niflheim pinned up on the wall with circles around areas. He itched to enter that room and examine the information there, but Aranea passed by it without a glance.

Finally, she stopped outside an empty office and gestured for them to enter. There weren’t any chairs before the desk but that was fine for Prompto. During the Long Night, most ‘useless’ or ‘decorative’ furniture had been used to create barricades. Wedge found a place in the corner of the office, crossing his arms as he looked at Prompto.

Aranea didn’t sit behind the desk, but rather walked in front of it and leaned/sat on it with her legs crossed and stretched out before her. She tapped on the desk, her claws making a slightly different noise against the metal of the desk.

Idly, Prompto wondered if her claws would make a ‘chalkboard’ screech if she ran her claws along the desk.

“Explain.” Aranea commanded in her typical ‘no-nonsense’ sort of way. The tone she used jerked Prompto’s mind back to her, and he found himself automatically straightening up in a form of ‘attention’.

“On the 26th, I was sent to find information on the vanishing disease.” Prompto started, reciting information that he thankfully knew from the journal. 

“You were sent to confirm/deny the rumors.” Aranea corrected.

“Consider it confirmed.” Prompto didn’t snap but it was a near thing. Usually Cor and/or Libertus waited until after the full report to question. “The people don’t vanish when they’re inflicted. Not really. The disease is actually the Starscourge, and they—”

“That’s a myth.” Wedge interrupted. 

“And so were daemons once upon a time.” Prompto replied, twisting to give Wedge a _look_. He was trying to save their lives, damn it. The least they could do was listen to information he had without interrupting. “The Empire’s territorial expansion likely caused its resurgence.”

“Have you been reading reports from the Research Division again?” Aranea asked. 

Prompto – just barely – withheld a groan. “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is the information I have, information you need if you want to keep us all alive. Berrik and Benzo would have _died_ if I hadn’t saved them! A reaper is small fry, but it nearly killed Benzo.”

“And this ‘reaper’ was once a person?” Aranea clarified. Her tapping had ceased, and she leaned back against the desk. She looked like the picture-perfect definition of nonchalance, if it wasn’t for the sharp gleam in her eyes. 

“Most likely. Once infected, people ‘vanish’ into the darkness where the disease continues to mutate them into something… else.” Prompto grimaced and resisted the urge to rub at his barcode. He was almost that something else once upon a time. “Light is dangerous to daemons. If you have a bright enough light, it keeps them away and can even harm or kill them.”

“Benzo said you shot ‘light’ at one of them.” Wedge recalled. He was rubbing his hand over his chin, obviously thinking about what Prompto was saying even if he had protested the most so far.

“When facing daemons, you either adapt or you die.” Prompto replied. “Starshell was an adaption.”

“You’ve never shown an aptitude for… magic… before?” Aranea commented. 

“I’ve never really been in a true life or death situation before.”

“I thought magic could only be performed by the Oracles or the Lucian royalty.” Wedge said and yeah, Prompto actually had to give that to him. He could only perform starshell before because of …his connection to Noctis. A connection he obviously didn’t have anymore.

Not that he needed to be reminded of that harsh truth.

But harsh truth or not… it brought up a very valid, very concerning question. Because Prompto wasn’t an Oracle or a member of Lucis royalty – ew, just the thought almost made him barf because then he’d be related to Noctis and just… no thanks – so why could he use starshell? Or crackshot?

Did he have all of his technical skills? Could he use trigger happy? Carbuncle hadn’t transferred his body or his bonds to Noctis, so why had his technical skills transferred over? 

“I…I don’t know.” Prompto replied, sounding lost even to his own ears. Aranea’s gaze was as sharp as ever, and it felt like despite posing the question, she might have an answer. Or at least an idea of an answer. “All I know is that I would have been dead without it.” 

“So your team… they were infected?” Aranea clarified. 

“They either vanished or were killed by daemons. I was a bit focused on surviving myself. The information on the disease _needed_ to get to _you_. Our people don’t deserve this, and it’ll only spread if we don’t stop it.”

It felt strange to refer to the people of Niflheim as ‘his’ people, but that was nearly verbatim what he had read in the journal. It was how _this_ Prompto would have referred to them, and he was this world’s Prompto now.

“Besides light, how do we do that?” Wedge asked. 

“We can’t right now.” Aranea replied, looking away from Prompto to frown at Wedge. “Until we gain control of the capital, it’s in their hands how they want to handle the issue. The most we can do is inform the public and use this to sway public opinion away from Aldercapt.”

She tapped her claws against the desk in quick succession before turning her gaze back to Prompto. “Do you have anything to back up these claims?”

“Just what I’ve witnessed.” Prompto admitted. If this were his world, if he had access to the armiger… he could pull out stacks upon stacks of research. But this wasn’t his world. He didn’t have that research – yet. “But if you need something to back what I say, I can guarantee Besithia has the research.”

Wedge visibly flinched at the mention of the Research Division’s chief researcher. Aranea didn’t appear to react except for the sharp scrape of her nails against the desk. It did, in fact, sound a little like a chalkboard screech.

“But research won’t help protect people from the daemons. They’ll need to know how to fight.” Prompto continued.

“Fight?” Wedge repeated, apparently more than happy to just ignore the ‘research’ and ‘Besithia’ mention. “You said it’s infectious. What if we or anyone else gets infected too?” He shook his head. “It’ll be best to continue to quarantine the areas, inform residents of what’s going on, and then kill any infected before they can become daemons.”

“We’re not killing our people!” Prompto’s voice rose in volume as Wedge’s words registered in his head. He just very nearly continued with a ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’, but somehow, by the grace of the Astrals, stopped himself.

Wedge was very obviously going to reply when Aranea held up a hand. Like a marionette, Wedge’s mouth snapped shut. “What do you suggest then?” She asked Prompto.

Prompto floundered, his mind racing as he went over the various pages in the journal and cross referenced with his knowledge, trying to remember anything that popped out at him as something to suggest.

Daemons could only be thwarted with light… but the Starscourge could be healed with the Oracle. Lunafreya was in Gralea, wasn’t she? He vaguely remembered talk of ‘the princess’ in a couple of journal entries. 

“The… Princess,” Not the oracle, but the _princess_, “is still in Gralea, isn’t she?” Prompto asked. “If we can find her, she can heal the scourge from the infected, but not the daemons.” Bonus points: if they recovered her, then that was one less thing for Prompto to worry about.

Wedge raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, kid?”

“She’s the,” Oracle, Prompto almost answered, “daughter of the Oracle,” he barely said instead. “She should be able to, and if not her, then the Oracle definitely can.”

Aranea hummed. “If we recover the princess, then we can leverage her for an alliance with the Tenebraen Royalty.” She mused. 

…

Prompto was not okay with using Lunafreya as leverage. He really wasn’t, but he imagined it would be better with him and Aranea than with Aldercapt or Besithia or whoever she was stuck with in the capital.

“Titus doesn’t think Lucis will help us.” Wedge said in a tone that very much screamed ‘friendly reminder’ to Aranea.

Prompto very nearly said something then, but didn’t. What would he know of Lucis and what they would or wouldn’t do? This wasn’t his world, nor his Lucis. And as far as they knew, he didn’t know much of Lucis anyways.

He didn’t even know what Lucis had to do with leveraging Lunafreya for an alliance with Tenebrae anyways.

“Not currently.” Aranea agreed. “But if we have the Tenebraen Royalty on our side? Well, that they might consider. Especially since we aim to end this war.” 

…

Okay. He still wasn’t okay with leveraging Lunafreya for anything, but so far, this seemed to be lining up with Prompto’s plans. Rescue Lunafreya, keep her safe, end the war, connect with Lucis. 

Maybe this would be easy after all.

“Okay, so if we were considering this…”

“What else is there to consider?” Aranea asked. “People are vanishing, daemons are springing up left and right. Regardless if the cause is the Vanishing Disease or not, teaching people to fight the daemons is our best bet. And if the Princess really can heal, then all the better.”

“Okay, okay, but there’s still the issue of no one having heard from the Princess in months.” Wedge argued.

And there was the wrench in the cogs of Prompto’s plans. He sort of wondered when it was going to show up. 

“I can go back and find out more information.” Prompto volunteered.

“Absolutely not.” Aranea snapped, sitting straight up to glare at Prompto. After a second she coughed and resumed her ‘relaxed’ position. “You’ll be needed here, to teach us about what you’ve learned about the daemons and this scourge.” 

“It’s important that she’s found.” Prompto argued. “There’s only so much we can do about the scourge without her.”

“And you’re the only one with information on how to survive and fight against these things. We’ve just been blundering along, but you’ve spent a month consistently with them.” Aranea countered. “_Wedge_ will look for the princess. _You’ll_ be teaching about daemons.” 

There was a tone to Aranea’s voice that left no room for argument. Prompto growled to himself and nodded sharply. “Fine.” 

Aranea sighed heavily. “You’ve had a hard time. Wedge will take you to your room and we’ll talk in the morning.”

Prompto wanted to argue but he knew the end of a conversation when he heard one. He narrowed his eyes at Aranea as he nodded sharply once more before exiting the room. Wedge was quick to follow, although the older man had nothing to say as he led the way. 

Prompto didn’t particularly appreciate being led to his room like a prisoner or a misbehaving child, but it at least excused him from having to blunder through the facility looking for it. He wasn’t some child to be sent to their room. He wasn’t some child who could be _grounded_. Not that Prompto knew what that was like given how little he saw his ‘parents’. And even if they did try to ground him, they were never around to enforce it.

Wedge gave him a look as he stopped outside a door, and patted Prompto’s shoulder in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture. “Still not sure about this,” Wedge admitted, “But if there’s any info on the princess, I’ll find it.”

…

Pardon Prompto for not believing that. 

He snorted and closed the door on Wedge’s face, which probably wasn’t the best gesture, but… he was seventeen years old again. He was allowed to be childish.

Of course that left him in the barren and empty room that was apparently _his_.

The only thing that really stated, ‘Prompto’s Room’ visually was a tattered dirty chocobo plush that looked as if it had been stitched back together more times than it was worth. Heck, it was sad to see that _this_ was the only real personal possession of the Prompto of this world: a sad dirty broken plush of a chocobo. His adoptive parents might not have been all that present, but they had at least seen to it that he had more than this.

But then again, he hadn’t grown up as a fugitive in a resistance in the military state of an empire known as Nifleheim. 

The only other thing was the boxes of journals stashed under the bed. For lack of anything else to do, Prompto selected them at random and idly flipped through, hoping that something interesting would catch his eye.

He supposed it was fortunate that this Prompto took up journaling instead of photography. With these journals, he had a nice little cheat sheet to at least the inner thoughts of the original Prompto of this world. An insight he sorely needed if he wanted to blend in here. He had some leeway through the month he was in Gralea, but that was a somewhat flimsy excuse.

_~_

_752-VI-3_

_It is something worse._

_~_

Aranea’s ‘base’, which was lovingly nicknamed ‘Home’ by a majority of the people who lived there, was a simple place. It was a decrepit abandoned look on the outside with a couple of carefully hidden entrances. 

It wasn’t big by any measure, but it was big enough for those who used it and Prompto supposed that was all that mattered.

In the few weeks that followed Prompto’s entrance to this world, he grew quite familiar with the base as it was the only place Aranea would allow him to go. 

According to the earliest journal, she had found him at a Magitek Infantry base and taken him in under her wing. She was something of a big sister to him, which was cool and all, but also meant she was a bit – more than a bit if he was being honest – overprotective over him.

That was doubly even more so if the Research Division was ever involved in anything.

Which was _rude_ because Prompto could handle the Research Division. Maybe it had been hard for him in the beginning, but the support of his friends was a great motivation for him to learn more about _who_ and _what_ he was.

He was an imperfect clone of Verstael Besithia meant to become a MT from a line that was later rejected and destroyed. 

Now, if that still held true in this world, he couldn’t say. He looked the same as he always had, and bore the same barcode, but that didn’t mean anything in this backwards world. 

But if it was the same, then there was no one better to dive into the Research Division. The Prompto of this world had already cracked Besithia’s notes and Prompto already knew how to understand the content of said notes.

Really, he was the _best_ person to dive into the disgusting twisted depths of the Research Division. Heck, with his barcode, he had unlimited access anyways.

Aranea was letting a resource go to waste and it _bothered_ him.

During the World of Ruin, they couldn’t afford to let any resource go to waste; and while this wasn’t the World of Ruin, Aranea was talking about a _civil war_ in Niflheim with her making a grab at the throne. A grab he fully endorsed if only because Aldercapt needed off the throne for there to be peace.

And if there was peace, then there was more of a chance for him to delay or prevent the World of Ruin.

But she wasn’t letting him _help_. At least, not the way he wanted to help. So he made himself busy in other ways.

There was never a reason to learn the political infrastructure of Niflheim while in Lucis or during the World of Ruin, but there was certainly a reason to learn it now.

There were five ‘Great Houses’ of Niflheim: Aldercapt, Tummelt, Ulldor, Glauca, and <strike>surprisingly</strike> Highwind. Aldercapts had stood as the ruling house for as long as anyone could remember, for as long as the calendar had existed. Currently, there was no heir to the Aldercapt line, so if the current one were to die… well, the throne would be up for grabs.

Houses Tummelt, Ulldor, and Glauca had all battled for high ranking military positions through the years. Currently the Lord of House Glauca stood as the General and High Commander of the Magitek Infantry with the Lords of Houses Tummelt and Ulldor serving him as brigadier generals and commanders. 

The House of Highwind fell from the grace of the Empire some years ago, and their public disagreement with the handling of the Astral Shiva and the Eternal Winter around M.E. 720 – another change between these worlds since Shiva had attacked Niflheim in M.E. 745 in his world – only made them less popular with Aldercapt.

And that lack of favor with Aldercapt cost the family everything.

Well, almost everything. It certainly gained them the loyalty of the people, and that, in the end, was what saved Aranea’s life. Or so Prompto suspected. 

Unfortunately information on this was limited, even in Prompto’s journals or the books around the base. It was true he had a living source in the form of one Aranea Highwind, but he somehow got the feeling that she wasn’t really open to talking about her past.

Or her apparent friendship with General Glauca. 

Besides the Houses of Niflheim, there was also the Research Division to worry about. Especially considering Prompto knew about the existence of Immortalis and knew that he needed to take care of that before it became a problem.

He was not interested in fighting a giant mechanical worm monster of death, destruction, and doom again. He was going to nip that right in the bud before that could become an issue.

Most concerning to Prompto, however, was the lack of mention of a Chancellor anywhere. For all intents and purposes, Ardyn Izunia didn’t seem to exist here. Which was… both a relief and a concern.

Every bad thing that ever happened could be traced back to Ardyn. Ardyn had been the one whispering in the Emperor’s ear about the Crystal. He had been the one to give Besithia the knowledge on daemons to create MTs and Immortalis. He had caused the Long Night and thrived in the World of Ruin.

Niflheim was still at war, Besithia was still on the loose, he was still a stolen MT clone… so where was Ardyn? Why was he hiding behind the scenes instead of sitting in the spotlight as before?

It was times when he thought about Ardyn when he really wished there was shooting range that he could go to or a mission he could complete. His hands twitched for the feel of a firearm, his mind frantic with the need to focus on bullets and firearms and targets and maintenance.

But there was no shooting range, and even if there was, he doubted they could afford to waste ammo. It wasn’t like he could go out on a ‘mission’ and work off some of this energy either. He was still ‘grounded’.

Literally the only thing he could do was throw himself into his research and work on teaching others about daemons. He felt a bit like Besithia, and the thought made his skin crawl in so many uncomfortable ways.

Except where Besithia was awed and amazeed with daemons, Prompto hated them. He didn’t study them out of a desire or want, but a necessity to protect those he cared for.

Thankfully, it seemed the Prompto of this world had an equally sunny disposition as himself and had managed to make quite an impression on the other resistance fighters. Upon hearing him lament about his ‘grounded’ status, they seemed to decide to cheer him up with liberal amounts of documents, papers, and news that they gathered while out on their missions.

The only thing they asked for in return was tidbits of gossip of what happened while they were away.

Did Rikku and Gippal finally get together, or did the playboy decide to go for someone else instead? They got together, but he cheated on her. Was Rin still arguing with Nhadala? Nhadala won the argument and Rin owed her big time. Had Jessie worked out if she was interested in Wedge or Biggs yet? Yes and the answer was neither; she had a huge crush on Aranea actually.

Between gathering gossip for payments and decoding the various research papers or reading about the Empire helped alleviate some of Prompto’s tension, but it wasn’t enough.

Truthfully, he didn’t think it would ever entirely go away until he was back where he belonged. Which was impossible, so he would settle for the next best thing: behind King Noctis as he ruled a peaceful kingdom.

“You’ve really been focused lately.” Biggs commented as he sat on the desk Prompto had requisitioned for the common area for him to work on. Prompto looked up from his description on the various subspecies of arachne daemons. 

He wished he could have included pictures, but he was no artist and he didn’t exactly have access to a camera right now. And even if he did, it wasn’t like Aranea would let him go out and get pictures of various daemons.

That fact didn’t stop him from missing his camera.

He tried not to think about it, or anything really from his world. He couldn’t go back. He could never go back, and that was just something he had to accept no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he wanted to go back. 

_“Walk tall, my friends.” _The last order from his king to his retinue. The last favor Noctis had asked of him. Walk tall, and in walking tall, there was no going back. He just had to keep on going. One step after another. 

This wasn’t his original world but that didn’t change the current situation. And the current situation was that this was his world now, like or not. And he was going to change it for the better. This was a second chance, and like hell he was going to squander it.

So, of course he had been focused lately.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked as he tilted his head slightly to the side to study Biggs. 

Biggs was the one most commonly left at HQ as Aranea wanted him in charge if anything ever happened to her. Obviously, Biggs wasn’t thrilled about the idea as he was Aranea’s self-appointed bodyguard, but there wasn’t exactly a lot he could do to object to her commands.

Wedge, with his slightly sunnier disposition, was better suited out among the people, where he could make connections and gain loyalty via friendliness. Aranea garnered a different kind of loyalty with her presence. She was a commander, through and through, and people tended to flock to that.

But Biggs… he was a commander like Aranea but not as prominent as her. And, he had an eye and talent for paperwork, strategy, and keeping operations running smooth. It was a no brainer to put him in charge of Home, even if he disagreed.

Biggs sighed the type of sigh that Prompto had learned – through numerous other encounters like this one over the past couple weeks – meant he was tired. And not tired like how Noctis got tired, but tired more in the way that Ignis got tired. 

Which was to say an emotional or mental sort of tired. The sort of tired that said ‘I’m tired of your shit’ and meant it. The type of tired that said ‘you’re going to eat your vegetables or so help me Astrals.’ The type of tired that Prompto had learned early on was best avoided.

Prompto didn’t envy Biggs just as he didn’t envy Ignis. There were people meant to take that kind of tired and Prompto was not one of them.

He had a sinking suspicion that he was going to have to become one of them, but until that time… he was firmly not one of them.

“No, just… unexpected.” Biggs smiled awkwardly at Prompto. “How’s everything been?”

Unease prickled along the back of Prompto’s neck and along his shoulders, despite the lack of apparent danger. Unless one considered awkward conversations about one’s emotional health a danger. In which case there was an abundance of danger warning lights going off in Prompto’s mind.

“Everything seems fine. The lights could be brighter in here, but I understand we’re—”

“I’m not interested in that.” Biggs said with a patented exhausted smile. “Forget about the daemons for a moment; I’m talking about you, kiddo. How’re _you_ doing?”

…Those warning bells and alarm lights were right. This was going to be awkward conversations about one’s emotional health, specifically _his_ emotional health. And well, Prompto was not ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

Not for people he didn’t know. Not for someone that wasn’t _his_ Noctis or Ignis or Gladio. Well, maybe not Gladio. For all the romance novels he read, Gladio sucked at emotions and feelings. Maybe that was why he read all those books, to get a glimpse of something the big guy could never obtain.

…

Sorry, Gladio, that was rude.

…

Prompto couldn’t find it in him to take back the thought. 

But Biggs wasn’t Gladio and certainly wasn’t Ignis or Noctis, so… he got a muttered “Uhm,” and what Prompto hoped was a smile. Guessing by the expression on Bigg’s face, he failed.

“I heard you had a rough time in Gralea.” Biggs clasped his hands and still smiled that patented exhausted smile. 

“It’s hard not to with daemons.” Prompto replied, unsure of where exactly this was going or what was prompting it. 

Bigg’s patented exhausted smile took on an undertone of a pained grimace. “I can imagine.” 

Prompto thought very bitterly that Biggs _couldn’t_ imagine. No one could imagine the terror and horror that was the World of Ruin. The never-ending feeling of impending doom that loomed over people’s heads. The fear of never knowing if someone would return from a mission, if there was enough food, if the city was safe, if…

If Noctis would return to an empty world devoid of all life.

Biggs cleared his throat, clearly sensing Prompto’s bitter mood at his previous statement. “Jessie was telling me that you’ve been researching into Niflheim’s hierarchy….”

Jessie, Prompto decided, was a traitor and would be getting no more gossip from him until he decided to forgive her. She definitely wouldn’t be finding out what Aranea liked to eat (beans. She liked _beans_. Noctis would be appalled).

Biggs waited a few moments for Prompto’s response before sighing – again – and continuing with, “I’m worried about you, Prom. You’ve never really taken such a strong interest in our work before.” 

…

Most places, that wouldn’t a problem. Heck, most places, that sentence wouldn’t make sense. ‘I’m worried because you’re finally taking an interest in our work’. Yeah, no, it just didn’t work. 

Prompto nodded slowly. “My time in Gralea set things in perspective. Our people don’t deserve that, and if there’s anything I can do to stop it, I will.” It still felt weird to refer to the citizens of _Niflheim_ his people, but he hoped that with time, the weirdness would eventually fade. 

Biggs stared at him for a good few moments before the exhausted pained smile became something a little more real, a little more proud. 

Seeing it set weird little butterflies loose in the pit of Prompto’s stomach. Not the kind of butterflies like when Cindy smiled at him; nor was it the kind was butterflies from Noctis – not even Noctis’ smile specifically, just _Noctis_ in general. It was just butterflies like the jitter of nerves from the strange thought of Biggs being _proud_ of him. 

“Spoken like a true Highwind.” Biggs finally said, shaking his head fondly. Prompto’s stomach performed a little flip. That was right… with Aranea taking him in, he was a Highwind now, not an Argentum. “I think I see what she saw in you all those years ago. You might not have the blood, but you certainly got the spirit.” Biggs chuckled and shook his head again. “You’ve been spending too much time with Lady A.”

“I spent too much time in Gralea.” Prompto corrected because he didn’t spend much time with Aranea. With Wedge looking for the princess, she had taken over some of his missions for medicine, recruitment, supplies, etc. She was barely at Home, and anytime she was, it was usually to rest. The most he saw her was at meals. 

Bigg’s smile dimmed a little. “That you did. Had us all worried.”

“Wedge said Nea didn’t know.”

“Wedge didn’t think she knew. She just couldn’t leave to come get you and Titus was…” Biggs waved his hand as if that explained everything. It didn’t. It really didn’t.

Prompto wanted to ask who the heck Titus was. This wasn’t the first time his name had been thrown casually around, and it was because of how casually thrown around that Prompto didn’t ask. This was someone that he knew and if he asked about him, well, it would give him away.

Unfortunately, context didn’t explain who Titus was; and while the journals mentioned him, they too were vague on who exactly he was. 

“He’ll be back sometime this week to check in on us… and you.” Biggs continued.

Prompto nodded, internally screaming and grimacing. The only bright side to this allusive Titus visiting was that he was given some notice before some guy that Prompto probably didn’t know showed up out of the blue and expected things of him. 

Biggs’ smile continued to dim as Prompto gave no real response, and after a few moments of silence, he sighed. “Look, I know you two had that argument… but try to go easy on him. He’s got a hard job and I’ve heard it’s been really trying these past few months.” 

… There was nothing in the journals about an argument. Fuck. When was this argument? What was it about? What if this Titus person tried to continue it?

What if he was discovered and they thought he was an imposter… a clone? He was technically already a clone, but what if they thought he was a _different_ clone? 

Prompto laughed nervously. “Yeah, sure. I’ll, uhm, try. Do you think he’s… still mad?”

Biggs laughed at him, and Prompto would have been offended if it wasn’t for the fact that he was too busy panicking over this argument that he apparently had with this Titus guy.

“Prom, all Glaucas are mad. Being angry at the world is a family trait, but I don’t think he’s mad at _you_ specifically.” Biggs explained once he finished laughing. 

Prompto didn’t see what was so funny. Especially since his brain sort of short circuited after the third word. Glauca. As in General Glauca. As in the terror of Niflheim, the scourge of the empire. He knew he was friends with Aranea from the journals, but he wasn’t exactly expecting to see the man. 

Not so quickly. Not so soon.

“Right.” Prompto squeaked. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t handle this right now. He just… he just needed to get away. Maybe scream into his pillow for a good minute or hour or day. Maybe he could somehow magically summon Carbuncle and return to his world where things made sense.

Somehow he didn’t think he was going to be that lucky.

He stood and cleared his throat. “Well, good talk, but I, uh, I’ve got more daemons to write about so…” He quickly grabbed the papers he had been working on and tucked them under his arm before heading towards one of the entrances to the common area. 

He spun back around as he approached the door, trying to seem like everything was fine – it wasn’t – with a, “see you later!” But as he spun back towards the door, he ran smack into someone’s chest. Irritation sparked within him as he looked up at the person he ran into.

Who the fuck was this tall besides Gladio, Cor, and…

The Captain of the Kingsglaive. The Captain of the Kingsglaive who was standing right in front of him. The Captain of the Kingsglaive who was standing in the doorway of the common area, looking down at him with an expression of surprise. 

For the second time in the past couple minutes, Prompto’s brain screeched to a halt. What the hell was the _captain of the Kingsglaive_ doing in _Niflheim at Aranea’s rebellion base??!??!!? _

“Titus!” Biggs called out from behind Prompto. “We weren’t expecting you till a bit later in the week.”

Titus.

He was so stupid. Now that he thought about it the Captain of the Kingsglaive was named _Titus Drautos. _Holy shit. Holy Astrals. The _captain of the Kingsglaive_ was the _High Commander of the Niflheim Magitek Infantry: General Glauca_.

Libertus had said that there were traitors in the Kingsglaive, but Prompto hadn’t thought that the **_Captain_**_ was included in that!_

“I’ve missed being here.” Titus the _Traitor_ said. He gave Prompto a look that could have been interpreted as fond and ruffled his hair as he passed him. Prompto wanted to die. “The Glaive have been driving me insane.”

…No. Prompto didn’t want to hear about the Kingsglaive and hear the treasonous proof that yes, Titus Drautos of the Kingsglaive was also Titus Glauca of Niflheim.

“Ulric, again?” Biggs asked. The name was vaguely familiar in Prompto’s head, but he just couldn’t process it. Not when he was still reeling over the identity of _Titus_.

“And Altius.” Titus added as he shook his head. “I think they’ve been conspiring to set me on fire ever since Ulric went and got himself bonded to the Infernian. He’s been a right pain in my ass since then too.” 

“You think he knows something?”

“If he does, he’s keeping it to himself.” Titus snorted and then eyed Prompto. “Heard you’ve been a troublemaker yourself. What were you thinking going into a quarantined part of Gralea?” 

“Uhm.” Prompto blinked up at Titus, still trying – and failing – to wrap his head around the identity of this man. This man who he _thought_ was a loyal member of King Regis’ Kingsglaive. This man who was the _captain_ of the Kingsglaive. 

How had no one discovered that two highly ranked military officials on both sides of the war _were the same Astral-damned people_?! Did the Crownsguard specialized in intelligence or not?!!? Apparently _NOT_ if they hadn’t discovered _THIS_!

This discovery totally lost Cor some ‘respect’ points.

“He’s been out of sorts ever since.” Biggs said, and ordinarily Prompto would be offended. But ordinarily, Prompto didn’t have to deal with a revelation this big. “But it’s done some good. Kid’s finally taking an active interest in what we’re doing.”

“Mm.” Titus frowned as he turned to study Prompto. “Need me to help you train up, kid?” 

No.

No, no, no. Prompto rejected this. He rejected that he allowed himself to be called any nickname by General Glauca. That he allowed himself to be called any nickname by a traitor to the royalty of Lucis. How could one give their oaths and promises and then turn around and stab their king in his back?! 

He would take Cor as a father figure any day over Wedge or Biggs or _Titus the Traitor_. 

“From what Benzo and Berrik said, he’s doing pretty good for himself. He was the only one of his team to survive Gralea, and saved Benzo and Berrik from becoming daemon food.” 

“Is that so?” Titus asked. The corner of his mouth lifted in what _could_ have been a smile. “That’s pretty impressive.”

… Astrals end him.

Please. It would be a mercy at this point. 

“Y-yeah, and uh, yeah about that, I should go write more.” He was only vaguely aware of his body, of his hands and arms gesturing towards the doorway he was so very close to. 

“Write?” Titus repeated. Was it Prompto’s imagination or did his expression darken. “You’re still writing in those journals?” When Prompto didn’t reply, Titus turned to Biggs. “I thought I told Aranea that habit was going to bite her in the ass one day.”

“I’m writing about daemons.” Prompto blurted out, because Aranea was a _friend_, and he wasn’t going to stand for Titus tearing into her in front of him. Titus turned back to him. 

“Daemons?” He repeated, and when Prompto nodded, Titus raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about daemons. A month in Gralea shouldn’t have taught you much.”

“It taught me enough.” Prompto replied defensively. “Biggs has some journals if you want to look.”

Damn it, why was he still here? He was trying to escape damn it, not chat with a _traitor_. _Did Regis know_? Surely he didn’t. If he did, then the war would be _over_, wouldn’t it? If Regis knew, then Aranea would have Lucian help to overtake the throne. 

_‘Lucis will not help us. Titus is certain of that.’ _

Fucking journals and hindsight. 

Titus turned back to Biggs and held out his hand. “May I?” 

Prompto took the opportunity to dash out the doorway and escape. He headed straight for his room and promptly collapsed onto his bed to scream into his pillow. 

~

_752-VI-???_

_Leaving this sector is not possible. We’ve tried too many times. With each attempt, members of the team have been dragged off into the darkness. Their screams echo in my head, over and over and over. There are so few of us left. _

_The daemons have corralled us, like we’re livestock. Perhaps we are to them. _

_Linna has started to… I don’t even know how to describe this… I don’t know… _leak_ this black sticky tar like substance. The sight of it turns my stomach. Ren says it’s dangerous, and I am inclined to believe. _

_~_

Of course his room was only a safe place for so long before Titus came knocking, and of course Prompto had to let him in because apparently this Prompto _liked_ the traitor and he needed to keep up some sort of appearances.

“This is good stuff.” Titus said, holding up a page that Prompto could tell belong to his arachne stuff. Had it fallen from his arms when he fled to his room or had he left it behind? He supposed it didn’t matter. The end result was Titus getting ahold of it. “I liked the detail you’ve put into the uttu section. That’s a difficult daemon to face.” 

“We managed.” Prompto said, still unnerved by Titus’ mere existence.

“Mmm… there’s more information than I would think you could gather after only a month…” Titus trailed off. He watched Prompto for a moment before shaking his head and putting the paper on the desk that Prompto requested for his room. “What research facility did you break into?”

“What are you talking about?” Prompto asked. 

Titus crossed his arms and gave Prompto a look that he could clear read as ‘not amused’. “You can pull the wool over Aranea’s eyes with your diving into research facilities, but don’t try that with me.” 

“I got the information from research papers scattered in Gralea.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you just broke Besithia’s encryption without access to one of his research bases?”

Indignation bristled within Prompto. Why did no one ever think he was actually capable of understanding, let alone _reading_, Besithia’s work. He was an imperfect _clone_ of the man, of course he could understand and _read_ his work! 

“Yes? I’m not stupid.” Prompto shook his head like ‘duh’. “It’s not that difficult to understand once you figure out the trick. From there it was just a matter of figuring out the technical terms. I’m better with the mechanical work, but the biology of plasmodia wasn’t too much more difficult to understand.”

Titus stared at him for a good long moment. A moment long enough for Prompto to realize that he was probably said too much. This was the _general_ of the entire Niflheim military. Prompto was so dead. Like, beyond dead. 

Goodbye second chance.

Of course, that was when Titus _laughed_. It was not a friendly laugh.

“Your potential is wasted on Aranea.”

… Prompto did not appreciate his earlier thoughts being repeated by this traitor. Especially since he really didn’t have a comeback for it. 

“Maybe, but I’m sticking with her.” Prompto <strike>lamely</strike> said. Or at least, he was sticking with her until he could jump over to Noctis. He made a vow, an oath, a promise to stay ever by his side, and different Noctis or not, he intended to keep it.

“Mm. It doesn’t matter who we fight for, only what.” Titus replied, which… yeah, Prompto could tell that was his opinion given he was a traitor to not just the Empire but to the Kingdom of Lucis as well. He wasn’t even sure if Titus knew what loyalty was.

Actually, he was willing to bet that Titus wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit him on his ass.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be in Niflheim for a few days unless – Astrals forbid – one of my Glaive set more shit on fire. You know how to contact me.”

Prompto wasn’t sure what exactly he would change his mind on, but he sure as hell knew that he wouldn’t be trusting Titus. He actually hoped that one of the Glaive set shit on fire. 

Heck, he hoped that whoever the Glaive that had been ‘placed’ was made life difficult for the traitor. Although, he doubted that would happen. If they knew that Titus was a traitor, then they should have reported it. 

So they probably didn’t know, and therefore, probably didn’t know to give Titus hell.

Unfortunately, Titus’ presence became something that Prompto learned to tolerate if only because the traitorous general seemed to like sticking around Home, and more specifically, sticking around him. 

Prompto glared at him from his bed since Titus had taken his desk to read over daemon information. All was quiet minus the sound of papers moving before Titus broke the silence with, “So, why is Wedge wasting time looking for the princess?” 

Prompto jerked, unexpecting the sudden break in the silence. He blinked at Titus, his mind belatedly registering the question. 

“For fighting the daemons. She can heal the scourge; prevent people from becoming daemons.” Prompto explained with a tone that said ‘duh’.

The sound of shuffling papers immediately fell silent as Titus sat up to turn his full attention to Prompto. “Excuse me?”

Prompto blinked at the traitor and hesitantly repeated himself, “She can heal the scourge.”

“She can heal the scourge?” Titus repeated, blinking as if in a daze or as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But she’s never gone through the training.”

“It’s innate? It’s the magic in her bloodline, just like it is for the Lucians.”

Titus shot him a look and Prompto was only thankful that he had for the foresight to be seen reading several <strike>very boring</strike> books on Lucis just in case something like this happened where he blurted out something he shouldn’t technically know.

“The royal line of Lucis gets their magic from bonding with Bahamut. The Oracles get it from bonding with Shiva. The princess isn’t bonded, and even if she was, Shiva is dead.”

Well, that was.. interesting. He made a note to himself to look up this ‘bond’ thing. It had been mentioned a couple of times now, and well, it seemed relevantly important to this world. Although, he had to snort at the idea of Shiva being dead.

She was ‘dead’ in his world too, and yet she had seemed more than plenty alive whenever Noctis nearly froze himself summoning her.

“If you think you can kill an Astral, you might want to get your ego checked. Besides, the Oracle is still around. So either Shiva is dead and the magic is in the bloodline, _or_ Shiva’s still alive.”

“Shiva is dead.” Titus repeated. His tone and voice said he was positive about this, but there was a look of concern in his eyes that made Prompto outright giddy. Yes, traitor, feel concern that the goddess was still alive after the attempt on her life. 

He remembered Titus mentioning something about one of his Glaives being bonded to the Infernian and trying to set him on fire. He hoped it was the Infernian’s way of saying ‘that’s what you deserve for trying to kill my wife’.

“If you’re really so sure she’s dead, tell that to our eternal winter.” He paused, “Unless you think these blizzards aren’t from her.”

Titus left the room in hurry and Prompto secretly hoped it was to go submit himself to the blizzard as penance for trying to kill the goddess of ice. 

~

_752-VI-???_

_Linna is gone. She just… vanished into the darkness, leaving behind everything on her person. Ren is convinced she’s been taken by the daemons. He says he hears her voice in the darkness, calling for him. I fear it’s only a matter of time before he too is taken. _

_Do the daemons devour them or is there something more sinister going on here? _

_~_

After Titus’ exit from his room the other day, Prompto hadn’t seen even a glimpse of the traitor. It was like he just up and left Home, which made no sense because Titus was a living nightmare who lived to torment Prompto.

But he supposed that Titus had other things to do than to haunt the halls of Home. More important things like betraying Lucis and being the General of the Niflheim Infantry.

Of course, he knew his luck of avoiding Titus would run out eventually; so he wasn’t all that surprised when he was called up to Aranea’s office and saw the traitor waiting there. The last few days had simply been a little break, and now he was back.

Great.

Prompto lowkey hoped Shiva was alive so she could make this man’s life more difficult than it already was.

He nodded to Wedge and Biggs, who were both looking as mystified as Prompto felt about their required presence. In the small office, having three men who were a bit on the larger size plus Aranea – who didn’t physically take up that much space but still somehow demanded space – and Prompto made the office a bit cramped. 

Aranea hated cramped, so why was she entertaining this?

Whatever _this_ was.

Aranea seemed annoyed – and when wasn’t she lately? – but it was hard to tell if it was due to the cramp quarters or something else. The sour looks she kept shooting over at Titus made him suspect it might be something else. 

Titus was ignoring her; his gaze solely on Prompto even as he tossed a manila folder onto Aranea’s desk. Prompto’s gaze tracked the movement, watching the folder as it spun before coming to a stop nearly halfway off the desk.

“I was going to give you another journal, but our last conversation left me thinking.” Titus said. Prompto blinked at him, the words swirling around in his head, but making no sense. Titus getting him journals explained why some of them seemed to be Lucian made, but Titus had seemed very set _against_ him writing in them. “I think this will suffice instead. Happy Birthday.”

“My birthday isn’t for another two mon—” Prompto started to protest. 

“That folder holds the last known location of the princess.” Prompto’s mouth shut with a snap at Titus’ interruption. Blood rushed in his ears as his gaze flickered back down to the folder. Every ounce of his being screamed to scramble for the folder. Wedge beat him too it.

So instead he settled for clutching his fists.

“She’ll be moved soon, so if you’re wanting to free her, you best be quick about it.” Titus continued. “Although, last I heard she wasn’t taking to the… _good doctor’s recommendations_ too well. It’s likely she’s dead by now.”

Prompto could understand the message Titus was passing well enough. If Shiva wasn’t dead, then she wouldn’t let one from her bonded line die. Bonds were something sacred, even to the Astrals. Or so said the _one_ text Prompto had found on the subject.

But Prompto knew better. If Niflheim hadn’t succeeded in killing Shiva before, he doubted they succeeded now. And in regard to Lunafreya, well…

Lunafreya was a fighter. She made it through the fall of Insomnia, across Lucis to the meteor, to Angelgard, to somehow Tenebrae and then Altissia nearly entirely on her own. She faced countless dangers in her path and somehow overcame them all, with just Umbra and Pryna at her side.

And Gentiana/Shiva as well; but he wasn’t going to include her. She seemed like the type to only intervene at the last moment, and she certainly hadn’t intervened to save Lunafreya before.

“We won’t know for sure unless we check it out.” Prompto replied. 

Titus’ responding smile was grim. “I thought you would say as much. Aranea?”

Aranea crossed her arms and leaned against the back wall. Her mouth twitched downwards into a frown. She stared, no, _glowered_ at Titus for a good solid minute before pursing her lips and switching her gaze to Prompto.

“You’ll be going with me ‘n’ Wedge to check it out.” She announced. Her gaze flickered once to Titus before returning to Prompto as she added, “Titus would come, but he’s got _business_ in Lucis.”

“How long do we have to get her?” Prompto asked. 

“We’ll be leaving in the morning.” Aranea replied.

So soon? Not that Prompto was complaining. The sooner he got the princess to safety, the better. If he could just find her and keep her safe, then he could consider at least some of his oaths to his king upheld.

And for that… he owed someone some gratitude. “Thank you,” He swallowed his pride as he thanked Titus. 

Titus blinked, the momentary look of confusion flashing over his features before he nodded. “Like I said, Happy Birthday, Kid.” He passed by Prompto on the way to the door and paused to give him a flimsily wrapped package that Prompto could feel was a journal before exiting. 

Well, at least Titus was out of his hair for now.

Aranea stared at the door he exited through before commenting, “Well, that’s the last we’ll see of him for a while.” Prompto couldn’t say he was all that torn up about that. Although, he was curious to know how Titus had convinced her to let Prompto come on this trip.

Last he knew, he was still ‘grounded’… but he wasn’t going to look a gift chocobo in the beak.

“Soooo… about the mission?”

Aranea’s flat look could have rivaled Ignis’, even after he lost his sight, but Prompto wasn’t afraid. He had faced much worse. Ardyn was a worse nightmare than Aranea could ever hope to be. Losing Noctis was by far the worst. If he could survive those, then he could survive Aranea.

His lack of faltering seemed to only add more fuel to the fire of Aranea’s ire. She sighed and stole the manila folder from Wedge to hand to him. He stared down at the folder were something precious.

In some ways, it was: this folder was just the first step to his succeeding in his goal. 

~

_752-VI-???_

_I don’t want to die. I don’t think I have any other choice. Ren and Linna hide in the darkness, following me, screaming at me. I couldn’t save them. I can’t save them. _

_The winter is getting worse and worse. I know Aldercapt said killing Shiva would prevent an eternal winter, but Nea’s mother was right: it was a mistake. _

_Maybe Biggs was right. Maybe the daemons are just another of the Glacian’s punishments. For killing her? For the missing princess? For the sins of humanity? Who knows anymore. _

_~_

The ride into Gralea wasn’t necessary more stressful than the ride from Gralea, but then again, in his <strike>admitted limited</strike> experience, riding into Gralea always sucked.

The first time around had been after Ignis was blinded and Lunafreya died. They trudged through a nasty dark swamp, and stopped by the burning manor, before everything bad all cumulated with Prompto being pushed off the train by Noctis. He still had nightmares about that. Well, about that and what followed after.

That all being said, there wasn’t much that could beat that experience for the ‘worst train ride ever’ award.

The train ride to Home when he first came to this world was tainted by the fact he was still reeling over being in a new world. A world where he was in Niflheim and not Lucis. 

This time, his train ride was being tainted by the knowledge that he was returning to Gralea – nothing good ever happened in Gralea – as well as the new ‘security’ prompts and Aranea’s increasingly irate mood.

Prompto wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed by his presence on the mission or the security prompts. Security prompts that Prompto was about 90% certain didn’t exist the first time he rode into Gralea. Then again, last time he went to Gralea there wasn’t a resistance within the empire to cause concern about things like ‘train passes’ or weapons.

No, by the time he was on a train _to_ Gralea, the Empire didn’t think it had anything to be worried about. Why would they be concerned about _minor_ things like _security_ like this when they had won the war, and all was ‘well’? 

Thankfully he didn’t need to worry about a pass as Aranea smacked a pass into his chest – a pass that he only barely managed to not drop – as she passed him to enter the train. “Keep hold of that,” was the only advice that she offered.

Thank the Astrals for ‘public service’ announcements and pamphlets to actually explain things to him.

In any case, he was more than a little willing to believe that Aranea’s mood came from the security nonsense over his presence. If she truly didn’t want him along – and he knew she didn’t really because she hated him even thinking of research facilities – then she could have just ordered him to stay.

Titus left for Lucis – and how he wished he could have joined the traitor – so it wasn’t like he was around to enforce Aranea taking him along. But she probably <strike>rightfully</strike> assumed that if she did order him to stay that he would sneak out and go anyways.

There was no way in hell he was just going to sit this out. Not with something as important as Lady Lunafreya’s safety on the line.

He needed to find her and make sure that she was safe and secure. Not just because she was important to Noctis, but also because she was important to the world. Sylva, her mother, may be alive and well in this world, but if something _were_ to happen to her, then Lunafreya would be the world’s last chance at slowing the scourge’s advance.

He would prefer Lunafreya to be safe behind magical Lucian walls and the line of human shields known as the Amicitias; but until he could manage that… he supposed he would have to do in the meantime.

Well, him and Aranea with her resistance. Maybe Glauca the Traitor too.

Maybe.

…

Prompto wasn’t willing to put money on that. 

Thankfully, the train ride wasn’t a long one – not nearly as long as his first ride into Gralea – and passed with little fanfare or chaos; which Prompto attributed to their lack of weapons. He missed his handguns, but if having twitchy fingers from a lack of a weapon meant no hostile encounters with the MTs, then he was willing to forgo his weapons… for now.

He didn’t trust MTs, even MTs that were _allegedly_ not under the Chancellor’s control.

“I have a contact in the district who can get us some weapons.” Wedge informed them quietly once they exited the train. And they would need weapons to reach the facility. 

Paranoid researchers made it so the research facilities were almost always out in the wilderness; with the exception of the facilities inside the Keep. The facility that Lunafreya being held at was no different, but the quickest way to reach it was from Gralea.

Quickest did not always mean easiest, although, in this case, it slightly did.

If they went through Gralea first, they could shave hours off of trekking through the snow and dealing with the security patrols of MTs that orbited all facilities. Although the weapons would be direly needed if they did happen across the MTs.

“Too bad they won’t have my Stoss Spear.” Aranea lamented.

“They’ll have a Wyvern Lance for you. They know the drill by now.” Wedge assured her. “And a couple different firearms for you.” He added as he nodded over to Prompto. “Have any in mind?”

None that would be available for him. 

He would have loved to get his hands on Hyper Magnum or Death Penalty, but he knew there was a fat chance of either of those. Out here in Niflheim, he could probably only get a Flame Gun or Rebellion if he was lucky. Lionheart if he was _really _lucky, but he didn’t think he would get _that_ lucky.

Best to focus on the two more likely options. 

Rebellion was better for crackshots, but the Flame Gun had more power in general. But the fact the Flame gun was made with hard to harvest – and even harder to smith – elemental veins, meant it’s price would be higher. 

Rebellion it was then.

“Uh, Rebellion if they got it.” He paused and then added as an afterthought, “And you can’t go wrong with a Sagitta or a Rapidus. I doubt we’ll be able to walk away with an Alea but Lumen Flares would be good too.”

Both Aranea and Wedge stared at him. “You want a wagon to go with that arsenal?” Aranea asked after a few seconds. 

“You’re already carrying a coat for the princess, how much more you want to carry?” Wedge added.

…

That’s right. He didn’t have access to the armiger. Funny how he still kept forgetting that. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had access to the armiger for the last half of his life or so. 

…

“Against the Daemons, Lumens are a must.” Prompto replied and pursed his lips. “I’d still like a Rapidus or a Sagitta too.”

“Assuming there are Daemons.” Aranea quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “It’s more likely we’ll be dealing with MTs and researchers.”

And Prompto could deal with both of those. But he knew the horrors that waited inside research facilities, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that there _weren’t_ daemons there.

Wedge hummed. “We’ll see what we can do.” And Prompto figured that a ‘we’ll see’ was the most he was going to get out of that. Didn’t change the fact that he was going to at least pick up a couple Lumen Flares before heading out if they were available.

Light was the best weapon against daemons, and without Noctis or Lucian made weapons, their ‘light-as-a-weapon’ capabilities were lacking.

“A Rapidus might be useful for the wilds.” Aranea mused. “Although I’m not sure about using it in the facility. Friendly fire is not appreciated.”

Prompto thought to the beginning of the road trip with Noctis and the others and how often Noctis almost sliced him up with summoning a weapon from the armiger, or how often Ignis and Gladio would almost hurt each other and others while fighting.

It took a long time for them all to figure out how to fight together without accidently killing or maiming each other. 

“Yeah.” Prompto nodded. “I see your point.”

“This is all assuming the Princess is here.” Wedge reminded them. Which was true. Titus did say that they might be moving her soon. He was even generous enough to give them some override codes that they could use to hack the security system from the security booth outside the facility to look for her over the cameras.

There had been a sticky note on the codes that said, “Can’t allow my favorite rebels to die pointlessly,” that Prompto had chosen to ignore.

“If she is, we’ll work on extraction. If not…” Aranea shrugged. 

Prompto’s response of ‘but what if she’s hiding’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it. This argument had already played out more times than Prompto wanted to admit and he wasn’t interested in replaying it again in the streets of Gralea. 

Even if they didn’t see Lunafreya in the facility, he was going to go in. He wasn’t going to just leave her there, and if she wasn’t there, then the clues to where she would be now would be. He couldn’t just wait for Titus to show back up and hand them her location on a silver platter again.

_~_

_752-VI-???_

_I don’t know <strike>when</strike> how long I’ve been here. The <strike>days</strike> nights blur together. It’s better to stay up at night. _They_ don’t attack during the day unless we’re in the darkness. We can’t camp in the cold. We—_

_We. There is no we. _

_There is only me. _

_ I need to get back to Nea, tell her about this ‘disease’. Our people don’t deserve this. I hear Ren and Linna and the others. I need to hide._

_~_

The sheer amount of snowfall around Gralea made finding even a trail up to the research facility far more difficult than it really needed to be. It wasn’t like the empire had wanted to broadcast the facility’s location either, so there was no clear-cut definitive roads to follow. And even if there had been at some point, the snowfall made finding them near impossible.

The snow had only reached about knee-high, but out in the wilds, it could easily reach as high as his waist in some areas. Trudging back through this with the princess would be a nightmare, but when compared to being inside a research facility, he was sure it would seem like a dream.

He had grabbed one of Aranea’s coats just for this purpose. It wouldn’t do for him to turn the fair princess into a popsicle during his daring rescue. The coat wasn’t as fancy or nice as he imagined the princess was used to – if the Empire treated her with any kind of decency – but was better than nothing.

Due to the coat and the weapons they procured for the journey, he had become something of the team’s pack mule; making him miss access to the armiger all the more. It didn’t help that Aranea still didn’t think he could hold his own in battle.

Which was… not fine, but was _fine_ in the aspect that he was going to deal with it and not make a fuss. 

“Are we sure Titus ain’t sending us on a wild hunt?” Wedge asked as they took a break from the grueling trudge.

Aranea pursed her lips, her sharp gaze raking through the trees. No doubt she was looking for enemies or any sign that they were approaching the facility. They had already crossed paths with two patrols of MTs which Aranea had neatly and quickly dispatched.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they ran into a few more. But he also wouldn’t be surprised if they ran into the facility first. 

Aranea had noticed patterns in the gaps of the trees that made her think that there _might_ have been a hidden ‘road’ for supplies at some point or another. Prompto was willing to trust her judgement and it seemed better than just wandering around in hopes of reaching the facility before night fell.

He knew the types of daemons to wonder around Niflheim and was in no hurry to become familiar with them.

“Why would he lie to us?” Prompto asked, genuinely curious. Yes, Titus was a traitor, but he _seemed_ honest about the resistance. Then again, this was also the same man who claimed that it didn’t matter who he fight for but what.

Which also led to the question of _what_ exactly Titus fought for. Which was a question for Prompto to explore later. Much later when he wasn’t on a <strike>potential</strike> princess rescue.

Wedge looked at Aranea instead of answering and she finally tore her gaze away from the surrounding trees. “What will you do if the princess is gone?” She asked instead of answering.

Prompto licked his lips as he thought over the answer. 

He knew Titus thought Lunafreya was dead and suspected Aranea – and maybe Wedge – felt the same, or at least felt that she might be gone. But he just couldn’t believe her to be dead for a number of reasons. The chief of which being that he couldn’t imagine the Astrals allowing the Oracle to die before her task could even begin to be finished. 

True, Lunafreya wasn’t the Oracle yet, but she would be one day. And when that day came, Noctis would need her to help cast the scourge away. 

“She’s not.” Prompto replied. 

Aranea frowned. “But _if_ she is—”

“She’s not.” Prompto repeated. “We should continue. I don’t want to be caught in these woods at night.” He added as he readjusted the stuff he was holding and started walking off towards the tree line. Behind him, he could hear Wedge scrambling to follow and the harsh whispers of a tense secret conversation.

Fine. They could have their private conversation where they were probably calling him out on his response. Whatever. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

What mattered now was the princess and getting to her. 

After a couple of minutes the conversation behind him fell silent and Aranea marched through the snow to resume her position of leader. He pretended that he couldn’t feel her sharp gaze on him and she didn’t try to talk to him.

Some part of him felt guilty for this. The Prompto of this world had been, for all intents and purposes, her younger brother. And now that Prompto was gone, and instead she had _him_. He didn’t have the memories of her Prompto, or their inside jokes or knowledge, or anything really.

Her Prompto was dead and now she was unknowingly having to deal with a strange new Prompto in his place. 

And he knew he was difficult for her. He wanted to go on missions, he wanted to help the resistance, he wanted to get into the research division’s secrets and save the Princess and… all these things that apparently the previous Prompto hadn’t been into.

But he also knew, to some degree, what laid ahead of them and how to somewhat prevent it. He had oaths and promises and vows to keep. 

He had a _King_ to serve, and for Noctis, he would do anything. 

Even dive into the bowels of the research facility that loomed out of the tree line in front of them.

“Omnious, isn’t it?” Wedge said from behind him and Aranea. The first thing Prompto noticed – and he was sure Aranea noticed as well – was the suspicious lack of guards. The security booth that Titus had given them codes to was left wide open, as if someone had entered or exited in a hurry.

Yet the snow field around the booth was smooth and clear. If there had been disturbed snow, it was covered now.

Aranea gritted her teeth and marched towards the booth, stomping through the snow and ice like it wasn’t an inconvenience to her at all. Part of him wondered if his lack of ability in the snow was telling that he wasn’t the Prompto she knew, if she assumed it was because he was the ‘mule’, or if this Prompto never learned how to walk so unhindered in snow.

Or maybe the snow was just smart and knew to jump out of an irate Aranea’s way.

Wedge stood with him for a few seconds before hurrying after her.

“Power’s still on!” She shouted out the window of the booth. “Place looks like it was abandoned just recently.” She added a moment later. “We might be able to stay the night here if needed.”

Prompto tore his gaze away from the doors to glance up at the sky. Cloud cover, as expected, but even with the clouds, he could tell it was getting late. Even if they left right now, they probably wouldn’t make it back to Gralea before dark. Good thing he was carrying – ugh, he _so_ missed the armiger – the camping supplies. 

He followed Wedge’s path in the snow and dropped the supplies off once inside the building. Not near the door or any windows – daemons loved to steal supplies – but not out of reach or terribly out of the way either. 

As deserted as this place was, he was taking no chances with the supplies. Not to mention there was this creepy crawly sensation of being _watched_ ever since he left the tree line. 

“Where do you think the guards are?” Wedge asked Prompto. 

Prompto let his gaze roam across the room, mentally noting the various scratches on the windows and doorways that _could_ have been from wildlife. Prompto wasn’t willing to put a bet on that though. 

“Hard to say.” Prompto replied, despite the mental alarm sounding in his head that sounded a lot like ‘DAEMONS’. 

Wedge snorted and went further into the shack, into the back room where Aranea was grumbling over the promised security panel. Wedge leaned over her should and hissed something to her that Prompto didn’t catch. Prompto rolled his eyes and wasn’t surprised when a loud “Ouch!” echoed through the empty shack a few moments later from Aranea elbowing Wedge away.

Different Aranea or not, some things didn’t change and Aranea’s need for space was very much one of those things.

He looked around the shack again, this time taking stock of areas of ‘weakness’, as Cor would call them. If they were going to stay the night then they would need to make sure not to be sitting ducks just in case the guards returned, or daemons spawned during the night. 

The windows would need to be blocked, and he really needed to know where exactly the power was coming from. If it was a generator, then he hoped it was in the smaller back room where Aranea and Wedge was.

If it wasn’t back there… well, the night was going to be _fun_ one. And by fun he meant ‘_Five Nights at Hojo’s’_ type of fun, which was to say more horror than fun. 

…He never did forgive Noctis for inflicting that game upon him.

On the bright side, there weren’t any blatant signs of daemon activity besides the missing guard. There were no piles of clothes on the floor, no blood stains, no black tar like stains from the scourge. 

It still wasn’t enough to put him at ease. 

“We’ll need to block the windows and doors, but it’ll do.” He approached the smaller back room and stopped at the doorway. He noted, with no small amount of despair, a lack of a generator in the room. Well, shit. “ Where’s the power from?”

“Who cares so long as it works?” Aranea asked, her clawed gloves were off as she typed commands into the computer, no doubt already having entered the keys that Titus gave them. “I don’t like this. This place is a ghost town.” She commented with a frown. 

Prompto hummed.

“They must have left in a hurry.” Wedge added. “There’s some clothes in the hallways like their suitcases weren’t completely zipped.”

…

Well shit.

“Can you see if there’s any breaches in the facility?” Prompto asked. A sensation similar to ice in its frigid chill started to climb up his back and neck. 

Missing guards, suspect scratches, and now clothes randomly in the hallways of the facility? There was no doubt about it, the facility was definitely overtaken. 

“Breaches?” Aranea echoed. Her typing paused for a second before resuming. She hummed after a minute. “Doesn’t look it.” She finally stated. “Must have sealed it up after leaving.” 

Or sealed it up with their dying breaths. But then where were the guard that were supposed to be out here? Had they entered the facility and sealed it? Or had they gone to Gralea to ask for help?

“They never left.” Prompto commented, more to himself than to them. He checked to ensure that Rebellion was still with him, and that he still had his Lumen Flares. “Any bodies?”

“Not yet, but I haven’t finished checking through the feeds.” She replied. “Quality’s poor and whatever’s powering this shack doesn’t seem to be working inside. Lights keep flickering.”

Oh, good. Par for course for the horror movie/game vibe. Perfect. Just want Prompto always wanted. 

Not.

It was good that he was, unfortunately, used to such horror. Going through Niflheim bases had become something of a past time for him, and they all came complete with their own set of distinct horrors. This place didn’t sound like much so far but those were always the worst.

He wished he had picked up a Rapidus besides the flares and Rebellion before leaving Gralea.

Titus’ data had been fairly recent, so this all must have been a recent outbreak. 

Which meant it was possible there were still survivors not on the cameras. Which meant Lunafreya could still be inside.

…

He couldn’t take that chance. He just couldn’t. He would never forgive himself if he left and assumed the Empire took her away and she died in there, trapped with the daemons.

While Wedge and Aranea were distracted with the cameras, he went over to the supplies and separated out some for him, pocketing them into a side bag. Ammo, rations, anything he thought he’d need. 

His stomach was twisting with anxiety as he stood and took a deep breath to center himself. Then he ducked out the door and headed to the facility door. He tore off his glove as he trudged through the snow to reach the facility doors and prayed to the Astrals that he wasn’t about to make a mistake by unsealing the facility.

“Prompto!” Aranea’s voice echoed in the clearing as he reached the door. She was at the doorway of the shack, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read over the distance. He swiped his hand over the scanner, and the once red lock turned green. 

Aranea was moving towards him, but she wouldn’t make it time. Not before he could duck inside and seal the place back up. He had that power. 

“Prompto!” She shouted again. “The princess is dea—”

The doors closed before she could finish her sentence, and a second later he heard the sound of her body hitting against the door. The lights flickered ominously in the hallway he was standing in. 

Her last words replayed on repeat in his head. _“The princess is dead.”_ That was the only thing she could have been saying. 

No. It wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t, couldn’t believe it. But if they thought that, then Lunafreya must still be in the facility. And if she was… he would find her.

_~_

_752-VIII-23_

_I won’t fail my king. _

_~_

Tired didn’t begin to describe how Carbuncle felt. The mere idea of attempting to summon the Oracle again so soon after the latest failure left the messenger feeling drained and exhausted. 

The messenger dragged his paws as he readied himself to attempt once more for the Oracle. As much as Carbuncle wished to rest, Shiva had spoken nothing but truth about the Oracle’s successor: she was not long for the world in the current state of things. 

Neither Shiva nor the current Oracle had the strength to prevent this, to save her. And she didn’t have the strength or knowledge to save herself.

Perhaps the Sniper could have saved her, had he known where to go and had a guide. He would be too late to save her now. 

All because Carbuncle hadn’t wanted to call attention to the failure to summon the Oracle. 

One more try, Carbuncle promised itself. One more try and then it could rest before resuming its original task. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys notice any typos or mistakes, or if you feel something needs to be said to me for any reason... please let me know!


	3. THE ORACLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Long Wait. I found out that my father needed Open Heart Surgery, and a lot of stuff ended up happening because of that. I have a post on my [Tumblr](https://star-gazing-knight.tumblr.com/) if you want to know more.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret claimed that she was afraid of neither dying nor death. Both had been an expectation for her since the day that the young prince Noctis had graced the halls of Fenestala Manor after his grievous injury at the hands of the daemon Marilith courtesy of the Empire of Niflheim. It was as clear to her then as it was to her mother that he was the True King, the King of Light, the King of Kings, the King of the Stone, the _chosen one_. And she was to be his Oracle. 

To aid the King was the calling of the Oracle. It was her duty and destiny, and she was prepared to accept whatever may come to pass as a result. Including death. 

Death was inevitable, but she had the closure that even if her life should end, she would not rest until her duty was finished. It would never be finished until Noctis purged the world of the scourge and returned Light to the land. 

She did not fear death.

Except she did in the most basic and primal of ways. She feared death as a child feared the dark and monsters under the bed – monsters Lunafreya knew all too well to be real. It was a fear she hid well, buried under her duty and destiny. 

It was her duty as Oracle to guide Noctis, and regardless of her feelings on the matter, it was something she would see to. What was her fear compared to the fate of the world? Compared to thousands of lives? 

To her knowledge, besides Gentiana, there were only ever two who saw past the brave façade that she put up. The first, her brother. The second…

“_Oh enough of this ‘brave princess’ act.” _

A light gone from the world far beyond his time.

Her fear could not protect her from her fate and duty. Even after she died, she had a duty to uphold and uphold it she did. She saw to Noctis, guiding him in ways that she could not while alive. She spoke to the Astrals, beseeching them for their assistance and guidance in opening the paths for Noctis. 

And in the end… her duty was finally fulfilled. 

So why exactly was she standing in the Citadel of Lucis? No. This was not the Citadel but a beautiful façade. There were no shadows here, only glimmering crystal soul shards that sparkled in the sunlight as they floated in the air.

Her footsteps were near silent as she walked the empty halls. She trailed her hand along the wall, something she had not been able to do since she was a young child and had been scolded by her mother. Magic thrummed inside the walls, alive and powerful in her hands like the ring of Lucii, the Trident of the Oracle, or her mother’s crown of bloodied sylleblossoms and ice. 

She stopped outside the doors to the throne room. The last time she had been here, she was to see King Regis after twelve long years. She blinked at the doors and was startled to realize her vision blurring from unshed tears.

What would the world think to see their Oracle crying now?

She pushed open the doors. They moved too light and airy for doors of their size and weight. She stepped through, gliding over the polished stone floor as if floating on a cloud.

“At long last, the Oracle answers the call.” Gentiana, no, here she was Shiva, spoke. Her words were soft spoken but still managed to fill the empty space of the room to echo in Lunafreya’s ears and soul. 

The goddess’ words chafed at Lunafreya. When had she ever failed to answer the call of the Astrals? She had succeeded in her duty, and done as expected of her. “I saw the King of Kings to his duty.” She informed Shiva. “The scourge has been purged from our star.” She pursed her lips and looked about the room as if she could discern why she had been brought here. “For what purpose am I here?” She finally asked upon not seeing anything.

“Your star.” Shiva said, or perhaps, she corrected. Lunafreya blinked at her. “The scourge has yet to be purged from _our _star.”

“I do not understand.”

“A broken heart is a grievous injury. Left untreated, it can fester and grow to consume the body, soul, and mind.” Shiva turned away from Lunafreya and floated up the staircase to stand at one of the windows to the side of the throne – where a small green fox she recognized as the messenger Carbuncle slept. “This world’s Oracle will not survive the loss of her daughter. A loss too late to prevent.”

The chill from Shiva’s words permeated through her body into her soul, creeping up upon her like frost on sylleblossoms. Her hands curled into fists tight enough that her nails left tiny crescent moons in the flesh of her palm. 

“You would have me step in to continue where…” Here she faltered, unsure of how exactly to refer to the situation. “Is this what you would have of me?”

“You have a choice, of course.” Shiva turned from the window and pinned her down with an icy gaze. Lunafreya’s exhales turned into white puffs of air and she shivered. “It is impossible to send you back, but if you so wish, you may stay here, and we will find another.”

“And if you do not?” She dared to question. She would not point out that this was more than a hypothetical question but a reality. There was not another. If there were, then she would not be here. She did not say this, but she knew it to be true.

Shiva was quiet as she regarded her with cold hard eyes. This was not her Shiva, was not the messenger and friend who’s heart she had warmed with her dedication. 

“Little Oracle,” Shiva began as she touched the window. Crystalline frost radiated out from her palm to turn the clear glass frosty white. Designs blossomed in the frost, taking the shape of the faces of people she knew and cared for. Her mother, her brother, King Regis, Noctis, a brave Glaive, and countless others. “All will fall to the dark.”

“Noctis—”

“The King of the Stone is lost in all but body.” Shiva replied. 

“Noctis is…” She trailed off, looking down at the polished stone so that the Astral could not see the unshed tears welling in her eyes. She had always known Noctis’ fate, but this seemed… wrong. She hadn’t spent much time with her childhood friend; but they had spent twelve long years exchanging letters and notes. He was a dear friend to her, and the news of his death was… 

Upsetting was too little a word to describe how she felt.

“Things can be different here.” Shiva sounded closer, kinder and softer. She looked up to see the Astral before her. “You are not from this world, are not bound by the same laws that govern. Some, not all.”

“But Noctis is…” She bit her lip and once more averted her gaze. 

“Have faith in the gods, little Oracle.” Shiva reached out and touched her chin, gently guiding her face until Lunafreya was looking at the Astral once more. “Will you stay and watch as our world falls to Darkness?” 

“What would you have of me?” Lunafreya whispered. “I cannot stay here, not whilst the world suffers.”

There was never a choice to begin with. Only a façade of one. She never had a choice in anything. She could never choose anything other than her duty. Her duty was to Noctis, nay, to the _World_ and _Future_. 

Shiva’s lips upturned in what could have been a smile if it only reached her eyes. “Very well.” The goddess’ words left Luna breathless in the cold. It spread across her face and down her neck into her chest. “Through ice and snow may the Bond be forged and the Oracle placed.”

Power and magic echoed in the goddess’ words. ‘Bond’ stuck to Lunafreya’s mind like a burr on a dress. She blinked away the snowflakes in her lashes, and tasted the icy air in her mouth. “Bond?” She repeated.

Was it something like a covenant? Would a revelation be necessary?

Shiva smiled at her and this time it did reach her eyes. The crystalline chill had continued to spread through her body, and with ever blink, the darkness lingered longer and longer at the edges of her vision.

“You will understand in time.”

Shiva promised, her voice nothing more than a whisper of the wind against snowdrifts. 

Lunafreya blinked once more and found herself somewhere completely different. She recognized it instantly as the inside of a Niflheim building, although it’s purpose was lost on her. Keep, facility, government building; it mattered not to her.

What did matter was the pool of scourge that stained her uncomfortable scratchy clothes. She sat up, pushing down on the floor and forcing herself to ignore the squish of the scourge between her fingers. Her body trembled, not just from the cold that seemed to linger from the… vision, but also from an exhaustion she could feel through her entire body.

She looked up to see a dead body not even a couple of feet from her. The body’s glassy eyes were staring at her, dark ooze sliding and bubbling out of the body’s mouth to join the puddle underneath that ran to the pool Lunafreya was in. The once white lab coat identified the body as a researcher.

The light hanging above her flickered sporadically as she stared at the body, willing herself not to be sick. She crawled out of the pool, trying not to focus on the way the slimy sticky way the scourge felt. She left a trail of black ooze and leaned against one of the turned over tables as she continued to stare at the dead body.

A researcher. And if that was a researcher, then this must be a facility. 

An inhuman screech echoed through the corridors from the smashed open door on the other side of the room. She froze, her breath stuck in her throat as a quiet scraping noise grew louder and louder. After what felt like an eternity, a MT stumbled past the door. 

She stared at it with wide eyes, praying and hoping that it did not stop and look into the room for it would surely see her instantly. It seemed her prayers were heard as it continued to shamble past the doorway. 

There had been something wrong with it. Its ‘eyes’ burned too brightly, its movements jerky and halting. There was a screech of metal against metal as its joints fought each other, and metal on concrete as the MT’s weapon was dragged lazily. 

The light above her blinked and the MT vanished from the doorway in the darkness, but the sound of it’s metal footsteps continued. Undaunting and undisturbed in the darkness. She waited for the noise to fade before breathing easily again. 

“You would deliver me unto a nightmare?” She whispered before shaking her head. What was the alternative? Sitting up in the _citadel_, watching as those of this world fell to the Darkness. No. She would not, could not.

If saving this world meant she had to survive these horrors, then she would do so. She survived Insomnia – with assistance – and the wilds of Lucis. She could survive this as well if it was required of her. She had her duty and she could not neglect it.

_“Yeah, I heard all that before.”_ The familiar Galahdan drawl echoed in her head. She shook it away, along with the cobwebs of thoughts of safety and blue eyes and dark braided hair and beads.

One night she had spent in the Glaive’s presence. One night and he had crawled under her skin and lingered there like a chill after a touch from Shiva. She couldn’t help but to wonder if the other Glaive had succeeded in meeting with her in Tenebrae, if she would have grown just as attached.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. Not when she was drenched in scourge in a clearly infected building. She stared down at the pool of scourge and wondered if she had the strength in this body to cleanse it. 

No, she decided after a long moment. She would not have the strength to cleanse this facility, to purge it of the scourge. She would have to find a way to ensure it didn’t leak out of here and spread. 

That, however, was a problem for future Lunafreya. Her priorities included getting clothed and finding an escape. Clearly she had not succeeded before, and part of her genuinely wondered what made Shiva believe her capable of escape now.

She slipped as she attempted to stand, her legs were already wobbly, and the sticky slick substance of the scourge did not help her in any way. She looked around the room, desperate for anything that could be of use to her: a keycard, a coat, some _shoes_, anything.

There was nothing.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she crept closer to the door and peered out into the flickering hallway. The screech of a daemon or a creature of some sort echoed down the hall and she hurried ducked back into the room. After several precious minutes of waiting, she cautiously peered back down the hallway.

Nothing.

She shivered as she crawled over the rubble of the ruined door, and darted down the hallway opposite of where the MT had gone. She skirted around most of the rubble. Her feet were bear and if she were to receive an injury, it could have grievous effects on her chances of escape and survival.

All around her, the facility was silent. The type of silent that reminded her a little of her time visiting and mediation various statues of past Oracles. It was a silence that spoke of something _else_, of something _watching_.

She prayed it was Shiva, but she doubted it. Places, she had come to realize, were as porous and absorbent as sponges. They soaked up whatever happened within walls, swallowing laughter and screams, fire and ice, light and dark alike, not caring for one or the other until they had swallowed enough to have a life of their own, in their own ways.

The horrors these walls must have seen; were _still _seeing. She couldn’t imagine them; didn’t want to imagine them. 

But she could imagine the malice that would have sunk in and festered in the darkness to further infect the inhabitants with seeds of hatred and cruelty that blossomed in their hearts. When she closed her eyes, she could almost see that festering illness waiting with spores like mold to infect and _grow_.

She continued to carefully pick her way through the hallways, pausing every so often to listen for noises from daemons or MTs. So far there had been nothing but silence, and she wasn’t sure if that unnerved her more or less than if she _had_ heard something.

The silence did not last long before there was a crashing scrapping noise of metal on metal; a painful screech that had her heart jumping into her throat and beating wildly. Lunafreya jumped, her eyes wide as she scanned the flickering hallway behind her where the noise had come from.

She trembled as she stood in the hallway, keenly listening for any other noise to indicate whether something was approaching or not. She rubbed her upper arms and pretended not to feel the sticky slick slide of the scourge and bit her bottom lip as she considered going back to investigate as the silence continued.

What if it was someone fleeing a daemon or a MT?

No. In this dark dank place, everyone was either already dead or a daemon unless they were blessed by Light as she was and immune to the scourge. 

But if there were survivors, wasn’t it her duty to help them? To heal them?

If it came down to a battle of Duty over Self Preservation, Duty would always win. She hesitantly stepped in the direction of the crash. There was no noise and after a minute of waiting, continued on.

The source of the crash was an MT, not a survivor as she had hoped. But there was still hope in the situation.

The MT was badly damaged, and she sincerely hoped that whatever it had picked a fight with was no longer around to pick a fight with her. She studied it from a short distance, her gaze roaming over its twisted joints and broken limbs. 

Likewise, it stared back at her with flickering red eyes inset in that emotionless green mask. She took a step closer and the arm carrying a broken axe jerked as if wanting to swing at her. It failed as its joints caught on itself mid swing. The movement halted with a screech of metal on metal, and Lunafreya winced.

“Poor creature.” She whispered, for at one point she knew these MTs to once have been living before the Research Division could corrupt and pollute them with the scourge. She reached out hesitantly and pressed her hand to its cold metal face and after a moment of hesitation, pressed her forehead to it. 

“Would it be that there were more I could do for you.” She whispered as the lights in its eyes faded until they were dull, and the creature ceased to move. “This will have to do.” She pulled away and pried the broken axe from its clawed hand. 

Scourge oozed at the end of the axe and dripped down the handle. It was squishy between her fingers, gooey and thick. She grimaced and would have wiped it off had she anything to wipe it with. 

She turned around just in time to see another MT round the corner. It froze at the end of the hallway, staring at her for just a second before unleashing a blood curdling scream and charging. They were faster than she remembered them being, and she threw her body to the side to narrowly avoid being impaled on the MT’s weapon – another broken axe.

Instead the attack landed on the broken MT she had stolen her weapon from, shattering it’s chest. The MT screamed again as the weapon became stuck and she used that opportunity to swing her weapon into its head. 

She might as well as been hitting it with a stick for all the damage it did. The MT screamed again, finally pulling it’s weapon free with a sickening crunch of technology, metal, and a wet sound she knew to be scourge based on the black spray on the wall. 

Fear grasped at her heart and she stumbled back, her eyes wide. “Faith!” She shouted; despite the fact she was holding neither trident nor spear. She held her weapon up and prayed that it would take the spell. Light spilled from her hand and ran up the weapon, heedless of the hiss of the scourge, and exploded at the tip. 

The MT jerked back as if she were wielding a torch of fire and it was a simple beast. It let out a screech as the light exploded that echoed in her ears before it crumpled to the ground, its eyes dull and empty.

She fell to her knees, both hands grasping the broken axe. She panted as she kneeled there, staring at the dull eyes of the MT she just ended. 

The spell had not worked exactly as it should have – but then again, she was lacking the proper weapon – but she supposed the outcome was accurate enough: she was alive, and the MT was not. 

She shouldn’t be so tired from a Faith spell, even if she had forced it through an improper medium. 

She stared into the dull red eyes and knew that this was only the beginning.

The Lunafreya who had been here before had been weak, but not of her own choice. Choice… or lack thereof was a trait she imagined they both shared. 

Still. If she was here, in what she could only think of as an impersonal sort of hell, then what of her brother? Surely he would not have left her to suffer here alone. She closed her eyes, and ignored the tears that slipped down her face to drop against her body. 

She used the axe – which at this point was more like a club than an axe – to help her stand and then turned on her heel and continued the way she had been going before turning back for the MT. It was fortunate that she had investigated the crash as otherwise she would not yet have a weapon. 

And Faith was always more potent when channeled through a weapon. 

It did not take long for her to return to where she had been when she heard the crash of the broken MT, and continued further. A few more hallways – and one more MT – later, she was rewarded for her perseverance with a locker room and showers. 

She could hopefully clean off the scourge – if the water still worked – and find shoes and replacement clothes that hopefully kept the chill out.

She stepped carefully into the locker room; one hand firmly grasped around the axe-turned-club as she peered into the flickering darkness. No MTs, no daemons in sight.

Her footsteps, while light, echoed in the bathroom as she stepped fully in. Cautiously she poked around the lockers. Most were locked and others were smashed as if a MT had come in and wreaked havoc upon them, but there were some that opened for her.

Her spoils ended up a small bag that she could use to carry anything she found, and some clothes to change into. Most of the shirts were too large, but she could easily knot them to fit better. As for the pants, she could roll up the legs. There were a couple different pairs of shoes, and while most were a size too large, she did find a pair of nurse shoes that fit well enough.

It would do for now until she could escape.

She kept the clothes that were too small as well. She could use them as scrap or to wipe her hands/objects off.

The showers were in a poor state. Puddles of water littered the room, some of them tinged in darkness that she refused to touch. Darkness crept up the drains. The plumbing was as infected as the rest of the facility, but she hoped it was limited solely to the outgoing plumbing. 

The pipes groaned as she turned on the water – probably alerting every daemon in the facility to her presence and location. She would have to make this fast.

She was thankful for her choppy and short hair as longer hair would have slowed her down. Thanks to its length, she could focus on washing the scourge away rather than the tangles. She scrubbed at her skin with blunt fingernails until her skin turned red despite the steady stream of cold poured upon her. 

She shivered under the water, and stepped out only once she was certain the scourge was no longer coated on her. She considered her weapon before shaking her head. It would only get further coated in scourge as she tried to escape. There was no point in attempting to clean it now.

The door bust open as she finished dressing and an MT charged in with wild red eyes and another broken axe. Lunafreya was not afraid to admit that she screamed as she dodged its attack, grabbed her own weapon and ducked out one of the doors into the locker room.

The responding scream of the MT echoed in the facility.

She ran down the hallway, not caring about the noise she made before she skid to a stop and slid into a crevice in the wall. A few heartbeats later, the MT careened past the crevice without even so much as a glance.

She released a shaky breath and practically collapsed against the wall behind her. 

She shivered as she waited in the crevice, listening and looking for any sign that the MT was doubling back. 

The new clothes did little to prevent the chill, and she came to accept that it wasn’t going away. Perhaps the clothes would have worked had she not opted to wear them while still wet, but she wasn’t going to touch any of the black towels in the locker room. 

After what seemed like an hour when nothing came for her, she slipped out. She tried to remember if there was any basic design to the research facilities. Any maps that she might have seen that would give her some idea of where to go.

She couldn’t recall anything like that, but she was sure that if she could get to the one of the security control centers, there would be something to help her. 

She just needed to find one.

A few hallways, patrolling MTs, and one stairwell locked via keycard later saw her ducked inside one of those control rooms, crouched down along the metal wall as the MTs paced outside in their search of her.

She panted quietly, and closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against the metal. Exhaustion tugged at her, but there was no place in this base that was safe. If she were to rest now, she doubted she would ever wake.

But… If she kept her current pace, she would go into stasis and then she would be defenseless against the hordes of MTs.

Tears once more prickled in her eyes, this time from frustration at the hopeless situation.

Why had Shiva brought her here? What could she hope to accomplish here except dying?

It seemed that this entire facility was nothing more than a tomb. In her search for this control room, she had found more dead bodies, ominous puddles of scourge, and MTs. She wasn’t sure if she was headed deeper in the facility or closer to the exit.

She needed a map, and now she was finally in a place where she could hopefully get some helpful information or a keycard, and she was stuck. If she stood or explored the room, surely the MTs would see her through the glass and attack.

She couldn’t repel or end them all. There were at least three by her last count.

There was a desk nearby and she rolled over to it, careful to keep hidden from the windows that could seal her doom. Carefully she swiped some of the papers off the desk and thumbed through them.

Facility Cost Reports, Containment Reports, Weather Reports, Supply Schedule…

“Oh.” She gasped as she scanned over a document. It wasn’t a map, but it explained that when the base went on lockdown the MTs were given orders to kill everyone inside. There wasn’t a reason listed, but that was fine. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know it anyways.

Not when there were pools and puddles of scourge dripping out of the MTs like they had sprung a leak, or under the slain bodies of the researchers. Not when scourge crawled up the drains and had seeped into the walls like an ancient plague from fairytales.

She imagined setting this place aflame and burning the scourge away and the thought almost brought a smile to her lips. The thought of fire and flames only served to remind her of the heat she currently lacked, and as if giving her a reminder, her body violently shuddered.

Something fell off the desk she was hiding behind, and she held her breath for all of a minute, hoping that the patrolling MTs outside would not investigate.

She was not so fortunate. 

She often heard that Lucians described the magic of the Crystal as sounding like breaking glass, but she begged to differ. The sound of Lucian magic was hopeful and friendly. It was comforting and meant safety. The sound of the glass shattering combined with screeches of the MTs as they clawed their way into the control room was anything but. 

It felt as if her heart had been replaced with a rabbit with how hard it was beating as she took up her club and tried to imbue it with the golden light of her magic. She could feel her limits quickly approaching as golden light engulfed her club.

And then it flickered and died as she felt stasis take over.

She inhaled sharply, both at her magic failing her and the sharp pain of spiked claws digging into her shoulder and dragging her out in the middle of the room. There were four MTs – she wasn’t sure where the fourth had come from. Perhaps it had always been in the room, perhaps it had come in at the same time as the others… she didn’t know. 

She supposed it didn’t matter. 

One of them raised their axe-turned-club, and she threw out her hand despite knowing it would do nothing to protect her. Behind closed eyelids she saw General Glauca’s sword coming for her. There was no Ring of the Lucii to put on. No Glaive to save her. She was alone.

“You’re not alone.” Shiva’s voice whispered in her ear, as clear and crisp as the crunch of new snow under boots.

She opened her eyes as ice radiated from her in deadly spikes, circling around her in a spiral of frozen death. The spikes glowed the faint gold of Oracle magic, and as each MT was impaled, they all fell silent with a shudder and spark.

The dark miasma that pooled from their injuries hissed and bubbled as it came in contact with the ice before dissipating. 

If she had thought herself to be exhausted before, it was nothing compared to the overwhelming fatigue plaguing into her now. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to cooperate. She couldn’t move, frozen in the middle of her own spiral of death.

Tears once more welled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, only this time they managed to make it halfway before they froze and stuck to her skin.

Was this the ‘Bond’ Shiva had spoken of? Was this the ‘difference’? The reason Shiva thought she could survive where this world’s Lunafreya had not? 

The chill that had been following her through this entire sordid adventure did not go away, however, it did not grow worse either. Which was uniquely different considering she was, for all intents and purposes, sitting in a deadly nest of ice spikes.

She laughed – or perhaps it was a sob – at the absurdity of her situation. Somehow, she managed to curl into a shaking, trembling ball.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until sometime later when she blinked to feel the stasis over, her magic restored, and a cold ache along the side that had been touching the ice. Somehow, the ice nest had accumulated two additional MT units, and had not yet melted.

She attributed the last bit to it being Astral in nature although there was a tinge of uncertainty that wavered at the edges of her mind. Was it truly Astral in nature? Or had it come from her?

Elemency was a gift of the Lucian line. Healing was the gift of hers. Yet she had been utterly exhausted by the ice that had exploded out of her as if it had _come_ from her.

She stood with the help of her club and gazed out over the ice spikes at the fallen MTs. 

If she truly had been the one to create the spikes, then it stood within reason that she could remove them as well. Hesitantly she reached out and as the tips of her fingers touched the nearest spike, it broke in a haunting crystalline sound.

“Oh.” She whispered; her eyes wide with wonder. She broke a few more spikes before shaking her head to clear herself of the awe. “I don’t understand.” She whispered to the ice. “If this was possible why…”

“She never survived to be Bonded.” Shiva whispered as Lunafreya trailed off in her question. “You came and accepted the Bond where she could not.”

“I see.”

She strode out of the ice spikes, the spires breaking just before she could actually run into them. There was a map on the far wall that she hadn’t been able to see before, and she walked over to it and pulled it down. 

Her gaze followed the twists and turns of the facility as the realization that she had been heading in the wrong direction sank in her gut and threatened to pull her down. She pursed her lips and folded up the map, tucking it away into her bag. 

There no point in crying over past mistakes. All she could do was learn from them and be better. In this case, that meant back tracking and escaping this place.

Navigating the facility was only slightly easier with her newfound power over ice spikes as it was a near instant death to any MT. However, she couldn’t control it very well, making it all but useless unless she was surrounded by multiple enemies or in a tightly enclosed place.

There were drawbacks to the last. 

She kicked at the MT blocking her way out of the crevice she had attempted to hide in. The ice that had impaled it had shattered at her touch, but the MT it killed was still wedged into the entrance. It’s final act of terror and defiance against her, she supposed.

Another kick saw its body shudder and slide down slightly. It wasn’t enough. She growled, both at the MT and herself for getting into this situation. 

This was the third time a MT had found her in the crevice, and the second it had gotten stuck. The first time, it had only taken two hard shoves and a kick to dislodge it. But this MT remained stubborn, even in its death.

She kicked it again, and this time it finally crumpled to the ground to allow her escape.

She squeezed herself out of the crevice, carefully stepping over the crumpled form of the MT and continuing on. She paused as she passed by a double set of doors that, according to the plaque on the wall to the right, seemed to lead to the cafeteria.

Her stomach growled, a not-so-gentle reminder that she had yet to eat or discover anything edible in her travel. She pulled out her map and pursed her lips as she considered her options. A room full of food and wide-open space was bound to be a dangerous arena. 

She shook her head and repocketed the map. She could eat once she was out of this place. There was just too much danger in assuming that the cafeteria would be any kind of safe. She continued past the doors.

There was another MT in the other corner, and she waited until it had turned around before quickly and quietly sprinting up behind it to hit it with a Faith spell attached to her club. The next hallway lacked any lights, but Faith glowed a bright golden as she coated her axe in the spell.

The next hallway was where she ran into problems. She pursed her lips as she studied the blockade made of furniture and broken MTs. One of them was still active and its red eyes focused on her as it reached out a hand as if asking for assistance. 

Had survivors created this blockage? If they had… was it before or after they were changed into daemons?

She double backed, taking another route to bypass the Cafeteria. 

Three times she tried to bypass the Cafeteria and three times she ran into blockades. Was this a sign from the Astrals for her to enter the Cafeteria? “Shiva?” She called out, but the only response was the sound of something – a can, maybe? – hitting the ground and rolling from beyond the Cafeteria’s doors.

Unease sunk into her stomach. She took a deep breath, mentally reaching for Faith and the ice Shiva had granted her. She could do this. She had to do this. Her Duty could not be neglected.

“_Oh enough of this ‘brave princess’ act.” _ The Galahdan drawl of the brave glaive snapped in the back of her mind. She inhaled deeply. He wasn’t here. She was alone, and no matter how much of an act her bravery might have been, it didn’t change the fact that she had no choice.

She took another deep breath and pushed through the double doors into the Cafeteria. The first thing she noticed was that the lights were all out. Glass shards scattered on the ground glittered like a thousand little gems and indicated that the broken lights might have been on purpose.

There were four entrances to the Cafeteria, along with a second level with broken stairs. One of the entrances led to the kitchens, where she could see flickering blueish green color that disappeared a second later. That one was clearly out.

Of the other three, one of them was already out on account of it being where Lunafreya had come from. That left the entrance directly across from her and to the right, across from the kitchen.

She kept her back to the wall as she skirted around the Cafeteria, not convinced that there wasn’t something looming in the darkness of the central area or in the high ceiling. She stopped only when she was at the door across the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark now, no lights in sight except for the flickering light from a hallway from a door open in the very back.

She bit her bottom lip as she tried the door behind her. It rattled, but there was no other give. Of course this would happen. She glanced at the door that had been originally across from her and debated whether to try going for it. 

She didn’t see much other choice. The clearly open door in the kitchen felt too much like a trap. The way the hallways had been blocked only further proved that to her. 

She continued to sidle against the wall as she made her way to the ‘last’ set of doors. She felt like her nerves were on fire for as frayed as they were by the time she reached the doors. The ceiling was visible now as the second floor was directly above. She tried the doors… and they didn’t even rattle.

“Stars.” She cursed to herself quietly and turned her gaze to the doors she had entered from. She was willing to bet that if she tried them now, they wouldn’t work. Which left… the kitchen.

Dread welled up inside her, but she pushed it aside and tried to pretend that all was fine, and she was fine. 

Once more she walked along the wall, her back to the wall until she came to the low counter separating the kitchen from the Cafeteria. The doors open at the back seemed to tease and taunt her with the prospect of escape.

She wondered how many the daemons had caught already with this trap.

She closed her eyes for just a second and took another deep fortifying breath before climbing atop the counter and dropping down into the kitchen.

She stepped in something thick and squishy that was too red and clumpy to be scourge. Some sort of chili perhaps?

Her stomach twisted and growled, reminding her of her hunger. She ignored it. She would not eat anything from this tainted place unless she could help it. Scourge on her was bad enough. She would not invite it inside.

The kitchen was still and silent as she walked through it. The doors closed the moment she was within feet of it, two goblin like creatures she thought might be snaga jumping out at her. She shouted, ice responding to her instantly to fan out before her. They disappeared into the air as the ice touched them. 

Claws ran through her hair, grabbing a clump and pulling her back out into the Cafeteria. This snaga also lost its life to ice. She watched in abject horror as a flan rose up out of the floor in the kitchen, casting a dark blueish green gleam to its surroundings. 

She wondered what that color had been earlier.

There were more snaga in the cafeteria, along with something that she recognized with mild horror to be a tonberry wearing a chef’s hat. _That_ would have to take priority over the snaga if only because even she was aware of the dangers of _that_ particular daemon.

Alone the snaga were not a problem, but they attacked in number, and that… that was a problem.

She spun a circle of ice around herself, using that to buy distance between her and the tonberry. The Snaga didn’t seem to care about the ice, throwing themselves over ignoring that just the touch of it burned and harmed them. They pulled at her hair and scratched at her face and skin. She felt one of them trying to tug away her club and she swung wildly.

The sound of her ice shattering as her club collided with it was not a welcoming noise. Neither was the crack of gunfire.

She spun around, casting more ice about in a hope to spear the deceitful little daemons. A few died with giggles, others with a gurgle that she knew she would hear in her dreams.

The gunfire continued and she realized that the snaga horde was not the horde it had once been. The flan was half melted as it collapsed and spilled onto the floor and dissipated in a black mist. A flash of light – muzzle flare – brought her attention to the windows overlooking the Cafeteria from the second floor. 

Someone – not a daemon, not a MT – was there, picking off her enemies one by one. 

The gunfire continued, and so did she. She swung her club around, more careful of her ice, and spun around with it. Everywhere her foot touched, Faith imbued ice spiked and spilled. 

She could only imagine how it looked to the person on the second floor. If this boon continued outside of this facility, she actually looked forward to experimenting with it and her usual weapon and fighting style.

Finally, the gun fire fell silent, and she slowed to a stop. The room spun around her, exhaustion and the beginnings of stasis pulling at her. All at once the ice shattered, scattering glowing shards and illuminating the room. 

Daemons hidden in the corners and shadows screamed as they vanished.

The tonberry was nowhere to be seen and she could only hope that either her ice and club had ended it, or the sniper had.

And speaking of the sniper… who were they? 

It felt too hopeful to think it may be her brother, but she could think none other – besides Noctis – who it could be. Only one who could withstand the scourge could have any hope of surviving here and not succumbing.

She stared up at the broken window she had seen the muzzle fire. “Who are you?” She called out. 

“A friend!” A voice – male, youthful, and _not Ravus_ – replied. “Can you get up here? The door down is blocked on your side.”

She cast a glance at the broken stairs and bit her lip. “I’m afraid not.” She shouted back. “The stairs are broken.”

It sounded like the unknown sniper cursed, but she couldn’t quite tell. She pulled out her map, digging it out of the mess of other assorted documents she had been picking up, and quickly located the Cafeteria and kitchen. Presumably the kitchen doors were still useable, so if she followed that path… there was a stairwell a couple hallways down. 

Provided there were no more taps or tricks – she doubted that – then she could easily reach the stairwell and meet the sniper. She would have to go up eventually anyways, she might as well as get to it now to join up with the only other person here.

“Do you have a map?” She called out.

“They make those?” He responded in the _most_ reassuring way. “I’ve been in enough of these places. Tell me what’cha thinking and I’ll work it out.”

She frowned up at the window, but didn’t really have any rebuke for the sniper. She sighed, and then called out, “There’s a stairwell a couple hallways from the kitchen.”

“Roughly about a right, left, and two rights from here?” 

Lunafreya scrambled for the map and followed the directions. Her frown deepened as it brought her to roughly the same area as the stairwell she had been hoping to use. If her new sniper friend was familiar with it and _wasn’t_ on her floor, then it was most likely not accessible.

“…Yes.” She called up hesitantly, already dreading the sniper’s response.

“It’s blocked.” The Sniper replied. “With an arachne’s web. Saw it through the window.”

Lunafreya exhaled sharply through her nose. Fine. If that way was blocked, then surely there was another way? She rescanned her map, trying to focus on stairwells ahead of her. She tapped one on the map across the facility from the first she’d suggested. 

“Alright, what about the one on the other side, opposite the kitchens?” True, the door across from the kitchens was blocked, but maybe the hallways leading to the stairwell weren’t. It seemed like a fools hope, but it was the best suggestion she had. 

“We can give it a try, but what if it doesn’t work?” The light from the ice was finally fading as the ice shards melted. They wouldn’t have much more time for a conversation until the daemons could return to the room. 

Yet the question the sniper prompted had her pausing. “One of us… could stay here?” She internally cringed at the solution she found, but it was the only one she could think of. 

The sniper was quiet, clearly thinking it over. “…Right. Not gonna lie, I’m not fond of the idea… but sure. Who’s staying?”

“You are.” Lunafreya decided. “I have a map, and besides, you have the more defensible position.”

“I hate that answer.” The sniper said. 

The ghost of a smile tugged at Lunafreya’s lips. “I will see you soon.” She offered the empty promise with the hope to fulfill it. 

“Safe travels.” The sniper replied as the light finally died. 

On a whim she tried the doors closest to the way she needed to go, and frowned as they still just rattled. Fine, her original plan it was. She spun on her heel, making sure to grab her bag, and exited out the doors in the kitchen. 

All she needed to do was just circle around the cafeteria and make her way to the stairwell. It shouldn’t be that difficult, right?

Of course, nothing was ever that easy. It seemed that she had jinxed herself as she ran into yet another barricade. It seemed that every way to the stairwell was blocked off with a barricade of rubble, furniture, and discarded MT bodies. 

Once she thought she heard _something_ from behind the barricade, and well, that was reason enough for her to not try to pass them.

She didn’t know if the daemons had built them to control where humans could go… or if the humans had built them in a misguided attempt at survival before being taken by the scourge.

Either way, she got the feeling that each and every one of them was bad news. The only bright side to all the barricades was that she now knew where all the MTs were in this part of the facility. 

It was nice not having to worry about the monstrous MTs with their deadly broken axes while handling her ‘new’ traveling companions of snagas and flans. Thankfully, she had yet to encounter another tonberry. Without a proper weapon or armor, she was woefully under equipped to deal with such a daemon. 

She pulled out her map and marked a cross on the stairwell the sniper had said was off limits – she had spent some time to verify that there was thick grey webbing covering the window before taking his word – and the stairwell she had been trying to get to. 

All the other stairwells were either deeper into the facility or would require her to backtrack. It stung to be _this_ close to freedom only to be denied it.

_“Locked doors will seal your fate no longer.” _King Regis whispered in her mind. 

Lunafreya sighed and muttered, “If only that were true, your majesty.” 

She would have to go back to the Cafeteria and hope that the sniper had remained as promised. They would have to figure out some other plan, since it didn’t seem like continuing further in this direction would yield any favorable results.

She sighed, again, at the thought of having to backtrack to the Cafeteria – and possibly further. The more she used her powers, the more tired she became and the battle in the Cafeteria had really taken it out of her – another reason she was thankful for the lack of MTs. 

If she had to backtrack, then she would _have_ to rest. 

She rolled her lips and willed herself not to express how distressing the thought was. She had braved far worse than this, she could do this. 

Her trek back to the Cafeteria was thankfully lacking excitement. A pair of snaga attempted to harass her once, but a quick swipe of her magic laced club took care of them easily enough.

“Lady Lunafreya!” The sniped called out as she entered the Cafeteria. There was the sound of a gunshot and then…

“Oh.” She whispered as light exploded against the ceiling, brilliant bright and safe. That was magic. She was certain of it. But who’s? The only people who should have had magic like that were those of the Oracle or the Lucis Caelum lines. 

“Stairwells blocked?” The sniper called down. Lunafreya tore her gaze away from the light and blinked the spots out of her eyes. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s less blockades further back where I came from, but the deeper you go in the facility, the more likely a keycard will be needed.” Said need for a keycard was the sole reason she hadn’t bothered with the stairwells in the areas with the MTs. 

She had hoped that by going closer to the entrance, the need for a keycard would be less urgent. Or that she would, by a stroke of chance and fate, find a keycard to use.

“Don’t worry about that.” The sniper shouted back. Did he have a keycard? “Tell me how to get to the stairwell.”

She blinked up at his silhouette in the window. Was he intending to _come to her_? That was ridiculous! Not to mention dangerous. She could not knowingly send someone who could potentially succumb to the scourge that way. 

“There are MTs further back.” She shook her head. “And the scourge is far more prevalent, I could not ask—”

“You’re not asking, your highness!” The sniper interrupted. “You look two seconds away from death’s door, and I didn’t come all this way for you to die on me now. I’ll come to you. Just tell me where to go.”

She pursed her lips and considered her options. The sniper had been right: she was not currently in any state to take on multiple MTs and make her way through unfamiliar territory to reach the sniper. The sniper did seem familiar with the facility to transverse it with vague directions… and he was likely more rested than she.

“’You are not alone.’” She whispered the words Shiva had said to her and wondered now if Shiva had been referring to this sniper and not the Astral herself. Was that the Astrals’ way of saying that she didn’t have to do everything on her own? 

She pulled out her map. “Do you know where the security control center should be further in?” She asked. There were too many hallways and paths to navigate for her to give direct directions. Besides, she didn’t know if the second floor truly mirrored her current floor. 

“Roughly.” 

She took a deep breath at the _continuously_ reassuring replies of the sniper.

“It’ll be about two hallways away from there, on the right.” She said.

“Right. And you got a way to stay safe till I come, right?” 

“I will be fine.” She reassured the sniper. She eyed the Cafeteria, trying to determine the best place to set up a little ice spike ring to keep herself safe. Unlike MTs, daemons could – and would – attack from above, and she didn’t feel confident enough to try to sculpt the ice to cover her. 

Under the lounge the sniper was in would be her best bet. 

“See you soon!” The sniper shouted, and she watched as his silhouette vanished from the window. She wondered if he too had felt this crushing disheartened sense of misery when she had left. Some part of her fully expected to never see him again.

It would not be the first time that someone had helped her only to never see her again. 

With the light that the sniper provided was still bright, she went ahead and made her way to the section she had chosen to make her ‘nest’ of ice. It was slower than usual to react to her, a result she fully blamed her exhaustion. 

Just her doing this was tipping the edges of stasis, and that was something she could not allow to happen whilst in the Cafeteria. Stasis in a large, soon to be dark, area like this was just asking for a swift, but painful, end.

This knowledge did not keep her from curling up in the ice, shivering as the sniper’s light faded and she was left the dim glow of her ice. 

She knew she didn’t fall asleep, but in what seemed like seconds, she was startled by the sound of a gunshot. Bright light once more spilled across the Cafeteria, jolting her back to full awareness. Had the sniper already returned? How long had it been since he left?

“Lady Lunafreya?” No. That was too close, too quiet.

It wasn’t shouted and now that it was no longer distorted by shouting and echoes, it sounded familiar in a way that tugged at her memories frantically. The ice shattered under her fingertips and she froze, staring at the face of the sniper because she _knew_ him.

He looked different from before – the pictures she had been sent and the visions she had seen after her death – but the young man kneeling before her was undoubtably Noctis’ best friend. What on Eos was he doing here??

“Prompto?” The name spilled from her lips before she could stop it. She shouldn’t know ‘Prompto’ here. This was their first meeting. Or was it? She regretted that she never asked Shiva more of this world’s Lunafreya and her past.

Prompto reared back at the sound of his name, his eyes comically wide as he nearly stumbled due to his kneeling position. “Wha… how?” Confusion swam in his eyes. Oh no, she messed up. She really messed up.

“No,” Prompto shook his head. “Never met…” He muttered and then inhaled sharply like something important just occurred to him. “No way, you’ve been placed too?”

Placed… too?

_“You’re not alone.”_ Shiva reminded her in her mind. She wasn’t alone. There were others that were _here_. Not here as in the facility, but _here_ as in this _world_. 

“You’re from another world.” She whispered.

“Same as you.” Prompto replied with a bitter smile. “Glad to see you alive, your highness. Let’s avoid Altissia this time, yeah?”

She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of her in near hysterical giggles. This really was the Prompto from her world. But how? Why? 

Furthermore, why hadn’t Shiva told her of this when offering her the ‘choice’ to come here or remain in the ‘citadel’? Who else was from her world? If she had declined and stayed in the ‘citadel’, how many people from her world would she have doomed?

“Who else?” She asked.

“Just us.” Prompto shrugged. “I was accidently summoned instead of you and man; I really should have guessed this would happen. Hindsight, man, err… ma’am.” 

“And what are you doing here?” She asked. Why was he here instead of in Lucis? How had he ended up in Niflheim instead of Lucis. 

“I told myself I wasn’t going to allow you to die again.” He grimaced. “Guess I already failed that if you’re here, but… I won’t fail _you_, your highness.” He surveyed her, giving her a look over. His grimace seemed to become more pronounced. “You’re looking better, but still too close to stasis.” 

Oh. Of course, as a traveling companion to Noctis, he would be trained in how to recognize stasis symptoms. 

She imagined her stasis was different from Noctis’, but if he was able to tell just by looking at her, then perhaps not. She resisted the urge to play with her hands, and forced herself to remain still. 

He tore his gaze away from her to rifle through a small bag she just noticed he had, shifting his rifle to the side as to not be in his way. After a few seconds, he pulled out some ration bars and a bottle of water. “From outside.” He assured her as he held them out. “I wouldn’t eat anything from here.”

Her stomach growled, clearly agreeing with this chain of events. Prompto cracked a genuine grin for a couple seconds at the noise, and she decided that he looked so much better smiling and happy. 

Tentatively she took the offered rations, resting the water bottle on her ice. Frost immediately started to creep up the bottle, painting delicate fractal designs. She was aware of how his gaze dipped down to the bottle, and the way his eyebrows rose; but he didn’t ask, so she didn’t explain.

The light started to fade as she was about halfway through the ration, and he pulled out a handgun, did something to it, and then fired another shot of light at the ceiling. She watched as it exploded against the ceiling and spilled light into the room.

“Starshell.” He said without her asking. “Dunno how it carried over from… you know, but,” he shrugged, “It’s useful.”

Yes, she could imagine it was.

They sat in silence as she ate, too many questions pressing at her mind for her to even think about maintaining a conversation. They could speak later, perhaps when they were in a place that wouldn’t endanger their lives every second they remained.

“By your leave.” Prompto declared once she finished the bars. He stood and offered his hand to her. 

She nodded, accepting his assistance and dusting off her borrowed clothes. “My life is in your hands.” She informed him. She regretted the words instantly if only because of the flash of guilt on his face. No doubt he was thinking of the Lunafreya she had replaced.

The one he had intended to keep safe.

With Prompto at her side, the journey through the facility was laughably easy. He was a talented shot, and evidence of his handiwork was clear from the destroyed MT bodies she passed. 

“The MTs and daemons don’t seem to get along.” Prompto informed her in a low voice as they slunk through the hallways. “Which is… weird.”

“They were programed to kill the staff should the facility be compromised.” Lunafreya informed him, remembering the document that she had found. “They may still be acting on those orders.”

The look Prompto gave her told her exactly what he thought of that. “These MTs are rogue.” He disagreed. “Orders are lost to daemonic instinct.” He peered around a corner and she could tell by the frown tugging at his lips that he didn’t like what he saw. “Shoulda grabbed a Rapidus.” He muttered.

The name brought to mind the image of a firearm, if only because that was the only thing she had seen him use thus far. However, the appearance of that specific firearm eluded her. 

If she was to spend more time with Prompto, she had a feeling she was going to become somewhat of an expert on firearms, if only through proxy.

“Something wrong?” She asked before peering around the corner. 

She didn’t see what had Prompto upset. There were just more destroyed MT bodies, no doubt the remains of when Prompto came through earlier to get her. Although, there were a bit more bodies than the other hallways.

She hummed and tested her magic. She wasn’t near stasis like she had been. If there was a problem, then she could definitely take it out with magic. 

“I can clear the way.” She suggested, although if the responding look Prompto gave her was any indication, she might as well as just announced that she was the Accursed. “I’m not as close as I was.” She assured him, “And you’ve already done so much. It’s my turn.”

She didn’t give him a chance to protest before she stepped out from behind him. 

“Lunafreya!” Prompto hissed, and she stepped forward just in time to avoid his hand grabbing her elbow. 

She furrowed her eyebrows, not understanding why Prompto was so worked up, until the MT closest to her lunged with a nightmare-inducing screech. The sound that escaped Lunafreya’s mouth could have rivaled the MT’s screech in volume.

Prompto’s hand curled around her elbow and she was yanked back – almost painfully – as he stepped forward and fired a shot into the MT. His aim was off for what seemed like the first time, and the MT lunged again, this time it’s claws making a direct hit against Prompto’s arm.

Panic welled up and mixed with the already potent mixture of adrenaline and fear that was coursing through her veins. Her magic reacted instantly without her actually calling on it. Ice sprung up around her and Prompto, bathing the area in a golden glow and effectively destroying the MT unit that had injured Prompto. 

The ice continued to spiral out around them until it hit the wall, at which point it ran up the hall, indiscriminately impaling MTs. 

Exhaustion hit her immediately, causing her to stumble forward into Prompto. “Lunafreya!” He shouted as he twisted to catch and hold her better. She blinked a few times, her vision alternating between blurriness and doubling. 

“That might have over done it.” She tried to say but the words felt slippery in her mouth. 

The Lunafreya who’s body she had taken was not prepared for these challenges and trials. The body wasn’t prepared to channel the power of the Oracle in so little time, let alone whatever power Shiva had granted her in the ‘Bonding’.

She was aware of the ice shattering, the noise echoed in her ears like the sounds of Lucian royal magic. Light sparkled around her, and she closed her eyes only to open them in a completely different location. 

She was laying on something hard and lumpy, a scratchy piece of cotton pulled over her form. She sat up and blinked at the various empty beds around her before turning her gaze towards the door where Prompto sat. 

He perked up as her gaze fell upon him, a wry smile that didn’t meet his eyes tugging at his lips. “Had me worried, your highness.”

Worried? 

Her mind whirled as it tried to process his words before the memory of her collapsing in the hallway played vividly in her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze. Had he carried her here?

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Prompto replied quickly. “That was awesome. I mean, we’ll have to work on the fainting thing, but like, what do you think Noctis did the first time he summoned one of the Six? Astral given powers take a lot outta you guys, I get it.”

She blinked at him, and wondered, for just a second, if he was real.

“’Sides, doesn’t look like the empire’s done you any favors.” He continued after a moment.

Lunafreya frowned, the pity in his eyes settling poorly with her. “She did the best she could in her situation.” She protested, feeling some desire to defend the Lunafreya who had been here before. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Prompto replied. “Doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t a situation you could have been prepared for, and that Niflheim didn’t do you any favors.” 

Lunafreya pursed her lips and looked down at the bed, picking at the scratchy cotton of the bedsheet. “No,” She agreed a moment later. “I suppose they did not.”

Silence reigned for a few moments before she broke it with, “Where are we?”

“Dorms.” Prompto replied. “Neither MTs or daemons seem to bother them much, so they make good rest stops instead of, you know, a Haven.”

Dorms. She turned her gaze to the room around them as she tried to imagine the people that must have stayed here. Had they family or friends who wondered now where their loved ones were? Had they been willingly complacent in the horrors of the Empire? Had they deserved the fate wrought upon them?

The scratchy cotton sheet balled up easily in her hand as these questions tore through her mind. 

“Did… did Noctis have need of these rooms?” She asked, needing a distraction from her mind. Prompto seemed familiar enough with them, so she imagined so. 

“A couple of times.” Prompto replied. “The last leg of our journey was… tough.”

Tough.

She supposed that was the easiest way to describe the last part of the trip. She only witnessed bits and pieces after her passing, but even she knew it had been full of strife and hardships. She wasn’t going to press further into such a difficult topic.

A few more moments of silence passed before Prompto perked up like he just remembered something and started to dig through his bag, drawing her attention back to him. “They aren’t elixirs,” He said as he pulled out another couple ration bars, “but I figure they’re better than nothing.”

She reached out to grab the offered bars, but hesitated when she saw the ripped-sheets-turned-bandages around his arm. 

“Allow me.” She said, taking the ration bars and putting them aside before taking Prompto’s hand.

“You don’t need to.” Prompto protested, but he didn’t remove his hand from her grasp or try to prevent her from unbandaging the wound. “Really, save you—”

A steady golden gleam from her hands cut him off, and he stared down at the magic with a look of awe.

_“Blessed Stars of Life and Light, deliver us from Darkness’ blight.” _She prayed, moving her hands over the injury. 

Healing was the least she could do for everything he had done so far for her. 

She furrowed her brow as she sensed the presence of the scourge within him, but it was _different_ that that which was infecting the facility. It less like the actual scourge and more like a _stain_ of it. Like some magic – which she also inexplicitly sensed within him – had washed it out. 

Did he know anything about this? Was this how he was able to perform magic such as ‘starshell’? 

She leaned back once she was finished, a smile on her lips as she watched him examine his arm with wide eyes. Her questions could wait for now. 

“Holy shit.” He whispered. “There’s not even a scar! So much better than potions.”

She laughed, a small little giggle and shook her head. “They can’t taste too terribly from how Noctis spoke of them.” 

“Nah,” Prompto shook his head. “Like stale energy drinks.” He scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue. “Dis.gus.ting. Yuck.”

She shook her head with fondness before picking up one of the bars and unwrapping it to eat. “No potions with me.” She informed him, “but I suppose you had your shared of these.” She gestured with the ration bar.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like Iggy would let us have those, ha!” He shook his head as he took a bar for himself. “He already hated the amount of Cup Noodles we had. We must have had it like every other meal or so.”

That was interesting. “I wasn’t aware Noctis had such an intense love for Cup Noodles.” Lunafreya commented.

Prompto nearly choked on his ration bar, and coughed a few times. “Noct?” He repeated. “Hell no. He got sick of them after the sixth time. Gladio was the noodle fiend. He had us go kill some terrifying monsters to ‘enhance’ the flavor, and then sprouted off some junk about how Cup Noodles were always perfect from the get-go.”

Prompto’s energy, even when complaining, was so bright and vibrant, and the way he spoke not just with his words, but his entire body, was endearing. She could completely understand how and why this young man had become Noctis best friend. 

He had this way of making the tension of the world just seem to vanish. And if he was treating her any way that he treated Noctis, then he didn’t act like they were royalty or important. He hadn’t cared that she had fainted, or that she had gotten them hurt in the first place.

He was just… wholesome in a way that made her incredibly glad that Noctis had a friend such as him. She regretted that the Noctis of this world did not. 

She giggled into her hand and shook her head. “I will endeavor to remember this when I meet this ‘Gladio’ in person. He was Noctis’ shield, if I recall correctly.”

“Should still be unless something’s changed.” Prompto replied with a shrug. He took another bite of his bar and swallowed before continuing with, “Hard to find any Lucian news here.”

“If its anything like the Niflheim I remember, it’ll all be propaganda.” Lunafreya sighed. She spun her other bar around on the bed, debating whether to go ahead and eat it now or to wait. She was sure Prompto had others, but she didn’t want to be out in the hallways and need to stop to find someplace safe for another break. “You’ve been here longer… tell me, what changes have you noticed?”

“You mean besides me being in Niflheim and you being in Imperial custody?” Prompto asked, his tone dry. “Well, the Empire is a bit preoccupied with a daemon infestation and a rebel insurgence, which yours truly is a part of and run by a former commodore. She’s gunning for position of Empress.”

“The Aldercapts have held the position since time immemorial.”

“Yeah, well ,the old geezer has no heirs. If he croaks, the throne goes to one of the Great Houses, and considering the other three are Military, I’d rather Nea take the throne. She’ll at least care about the people and stop this war.”

“Stop this war.” Lunafreya muttered, trying to imagine a world where the war didn’t exist. For as long as she had ever known, the war had waged between Lucis and Niflheim. The thought that it could be over was… as incomprehensible as it was the first time she had heard such a thing. 

A treaty between Niflheim and Lucis seemed so impossible, but if Prompto was endorsing this ‘Nea’, then perhaps… maybe, it would be possible.

Of course she would refrain full judgement until meeting this ‘Nea’. As much as she would love to choose hope, the idea of peace seemed so out of reach she couldn’t even imagine it within possibility.

“Are others aware of you?” She asked. “Of where you come from?”

“No.” Prompto shook his head. “I thought it better to just… I mean I _am_ this Prompto now, for better or worse.” He sighed. “’Sides, I figured if I started talking about alternative worlds and Carbuncle, I’d be labeled as ‘crazy’. Can’t exactly help anyone then, huh?”

“Do you know how long she… I was a prisoner of the Empire?” She asked. “If I am to assume this identity, it would be helpful to know.” 

“You’re…”

“If I were to claim the truth, little will believe me; even with the weight of the Oracle behind my words. As loathe as I am to lie I can understand the need for the greater good.”

Prompto give her a look before replying, “I’m not sure how long. Since you were young, I believe.”

“There should be some sort of documentation here.” She commented, watching his face carefully to see if he understood exactly what she was implying. She could guess by the way his expression completely fell before becoming blank that he had.

“No.” 

She pursed her lips. “Any information on this Niflheim is information to help our cause.” She argued. “Should we wish to remain here and assist Noctis, we must be well informed.”

“We need to get you out of here; that’s what we need to do.” Prompto shook his head. “I can’t… we’re not exactly equipped to dive into the depths of this place.” 

“Fine. Then we’ll just look on our way out then.” She offered as a compromise. “I understand your desire to see me safe, but there are more important things. I do not fear death, but doing nothing and losing everything.”

He sighed and looked off to the side before jerkily nodding his head. “Fine. Whatever.” He swung back to look at her. “But _only_ if the information is on the way. We aren’t seeking it out otherwise.”

She nodded sharply. “That was what was agreed upon, yes.” She replied. “I suppose any knowledge that I lack can be blamed on the Empire, and any knowledge I have that I shouldn’t can be attributed to Messengers.”

“Alright. Well, as soon as you’re ready to go, we’ll set out. I don’t know how long Nea plans to wait for me, if at all.”

Had the rescue not been planned? Was Prompto acting rouge? Or had something happened that led him to question this ‘Nea’s’ continued support. 

She wanted to ask, but held her tongue. Instead she nodded sharply once more. “I am ready.” She said as she stood. And she certainly felt ready. Magic flowed easily beneath her skin, fluid but chilly in a way that was both familiar and not. 

They ran into a couple more MTs on their way to the stairwell which was closer than she would have expected. She had walked right past the dorm and hadn’t even noticed. Perhaps if she had, then she wouldn’t have been so ill prepared later.

The barcode on Prompto’s wrist was something she was dying to ask him about, but it was clear from the way he recovered it after opening the stairwell that it was something that bothered him.

She would either wait for him to bring it up then, or bring it up later like so many other things she needed to bring up.

Surprisingly, he did not take her to the stairwell she had originally suggested to him. It was enough of a change to cause her to pause, recalling the fables and myths of how the Accursed could change his appearance. 

Of course, if there was any other who could stand to be in a scourge infested facility, it would be the Accursed. But how would he know about the whole ‘other world’ thing? And she had _healed _him. If he was truly the Accursed, then that wouldn’t have been possible.

“Luna?” Prompto asked. He reached out as if he were going to touch her hand before aborting and letting his hand awkwardly fall to his side. “The stairwell you suggested was a no go, but I kept looking. I couldn’t come back to you unless it was in person.” He was biting his lip, his gaze averted in what was clearly embarrassment.

How could she have thought, even for a second, that this was the Accursed?

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry.” She whispered. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Prompto’s lips thinned, but he was smiling. “I can get behind that.” Still, there was concern in his gaze that she wasn’t used to being directed at her.

She nodded at the stairwell door. “Shall we?”

“We shall, my lady.” Prompto replied, bowing in a low dramatic way that drew a giggle from her. 

Prompto opened the door and immediately fired his handgun, catching a MT off guard and taking it down in a flurry of movement.

“What’s outside?” She asked as she stepped over the MT that Prompto had just taken down. He seemed pretty intent on making sure she didn’t have to use her club or ice ever since the incident in the hallway. She wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about that beyond grateful.

“Snow.” Prompto replied with a grunt as he tossed an already destroyed MT body down the stairwell and out of their way. 

There was a loud echoing noise of metal hitting the stairs before it finally reached the bottom, some floors below. She considered herself lucky that she had only been on the second floor, if one counted the top floor as the first floor. 

Prompto grimaced at the noise and glanced down to make sure there was nothing climbing its way up to them before continuing with, “ice, and hopefully, an Aranea who’s not entirely pissed at me.”

“Aranea?” She repeated. She couldn’t say the name was familiar, but it rolled off Prompto’s tongue like it was for him. If he was hoping this ‘Aranea’ wasn’t pissed, then she supposed it was familiar to him.

“Mm, she was a commodore serving under your brother back home. Here she’s the leader of the Niflheim Resistance.” He looked over his shoulder to half shrug at her. “And my pseudo sister, apparently.”

…Oh.

Ara_nea_ and ‘Nea’ were the same person. That was why the name sounded familiar. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that.

“You’re from Niflheim _here_?” She finally decided to ask. “I wondered if you were just sent from Lucis to help…”

“Nope.” Prompto shook his head. “I’m a Niff. Always been.” He replied with a shrug and a look as if to say, ‘what can I say’. He unlocked the door to the top level and checking to ensure there were no surprises. “C’mon.” He jerked his head towards the hallway. “It’s clear.”

A clamor of metal from somewhere below them prompted Lunafreya to not even look before darting past Prompto and into the hallway. 

The flickering lights seemed much more sporadic on this level, but it was still _light_ and for that she was grateful. “There’s MTs here too.” Prompto advised before locking the door with his barcode and stepping in front of her. 

Of course. If there was actually decent lighting, then there must be MTs. The daemons would have broken the flickering lights by now if they were up here. 

“How much further?”

“If we skip the Cafeteria...” Prompto shrugged. “It shouldn’t take too long so long as the ways are still clear. There’s daemons in some areas, but like I said earlier, the MTs and the daemons don’t seem to get along. Otherwise, the Cafeteria is the halfway.”

The only reason she didn’t sigh was because of pure force of will. She wanted to sigh and complain. It had felt like an eternity between leaving the Cafeteria to reach the stairs, and now they would have to return to the Cafeteria – albeit on the upper level now – and then work their way out. 

“It shouldn’t be bad.” Prompto grimaced immediately after speaking. “Shoot, I shouldn’t have said that. I went and jinxed us.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She tried to assure him. She wasn’t entirely sure she succeeded. 

“…now we’re doubled jinxed.” He sighed and took his beanie off to run a hand through his hair. “Don’t suppose you know any nice Messengers who’d be willing to just spirit us out of here, do ya?”

“I’m not sure.” She replied, twisting her hands. “In our world, most of the Messengers were gone. Either felled in the Astral war or asleep. I couldn’t say for here.”

“Looks like we’re doing this the hard way then.” Prompto groaned. 

The sound of something metal hitting against the door behind them caused them both to jump. Prompto looked and paled. His hand found Lunafreya’s shoulder and he guided her away. “We should get going.”

“Is it bad?” She asked. 

“Mmm,” He held the tone for a moment. “…Only if it gets through the door and finds us.”

Reassuring. Very reassuring.

The first couple of hallways were, thankfully, clear. Lunafreya took this a sign from the gods that she and Prompto were on the right path. The next couple of hallways after that weren’t as clear, but it wasn’t anything Prompto couldn’t handle with a few bullets.

“It is fortunate these hallways don’t allow for larger daemons.” Lunafreya commented after Prompto took down a group of snaga that were attempting to tear break the already badly damaged lights. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Prompto shouted. “No jinxing!” He shook a finger at her as if he were scolding her. “We don’t need more trouble. We’re enough as it is.”

“Are you implying I cause trouble?” She asked.

“Trouble likes to follow us, don’t it?” He replied, holstering his handgun. “The snaga worry me. There weren’t any last time I passed through and I really don’t want to stay here just in case that thing gets through the door.”

“What was it?” She asked. Her hand glowed as she channeled her Oracle magic to it. “I’m sure we could handle it together.”

“I… rather not say, and I really don’t think so.” He grimaced. “I don’t think it’ll get through the door easily though. Our saving grace, I suppose.” He sighed and leaned backwards with his arms raised. She heard the distinct noise of joints popping, and wrinkled her nose. “Not much further now. We’re in the homerun.”

She nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?” She asked with a smile. “Let’s go meet your sister.”

“Pseudo sister.” Prompto corrected. He nodded in the direction they were planning on going before resuming the journey. “Ugh, I suppose that makes me a Highwind.” He wrinkled his nose at the idea.

“Don’t you look happy about that.” She teased as she turned down the next hallway. A snaga dropped down before her and she instinctually smacked it with the club into the wall hard enough that it instantly vanished. Prompto already finished the other two before she could whirl around on them.

The next hallway was where they discovered the snagas’ plan. After taking care of them, Prompto sucked on his teeth and rested his hands on his hips as he overserved the half formed badly created blockade before them. 

“What is with people and ‘walls’?” He asked after a moment. “Lucians, Niffs… they’re all attached to the concept. Heck, even Altissia was known as the ‘Walls of Water’.” He looked to Lunafreya with an almost pleading look. “Tell me Tenebraens are more sensible.”

Lunafreya giggled and stepped over the barely knee-high structure.

“Doors are more our thing.” She joked. “Come on, it’s best if we don’t dally.”

“At least it’s not _walls_.” Prompto muttered as he stepped over the ‘blockade’. “I don’t believe I was worried about _that_.”

“Snaga can be intelligent when they want to be.” She commented, trying to reassure him. “You had every right to be worried.”

Despite her comment about not dallying, she paused when she noticed a security center. She turned to Prompto to point it out, but he had already noticed. 

“Go on, check it out. We’re close enough to the doors it shouldn’t be a problem.”

She made her way over to it quickly, nudging the few destroyed looking MTs laying in her path to verify that they were truly destroyed. This security console looked to be the same as the one she had found previously, although a bit more… horrific.

There was a dried bloodstain on one of the security panels, and a path that showed where the body had been carried. Strangely enough, it stopped at the door, and she wasn’t sure how exactly she felt about that.

On the bloodstains console was a USB drive that she pocketed. It looked like a copy of the data had been transmitted out of the facility, so she imagined there was at least something _interesting_ on it. She didn’t bother reading any of the papers that she picked up, choosing instead to just shove them into her bag along with documents she had found earlier.

It would, no doubt, be dreadfully boring and horrifying to go through all these papers later, but there was still a chance that some of these would hold useful information. She tried to keep her search quick, if the daemons were building blockades, then she did not want to be stuck on the wrong side of one. 

“Done!” She called out as she exited the area.

“Sweet.” He nodded. “Find anything good?”

“A usb drive and some papers.” She informed him. “There should be something of note on the drive. It appeared that someone may have perished to transmit a copy out of the facility.”

“That sounds like research data to me.” Prompto replied. “We’ll just have to avoid any questions about your time with the Empire until we can check it out.”

She nodded, and their journey continued. Not that there was much more of it in the facility. One hallway later and they came to set of doors larger and grander than any of the other doors seen thus far. Prompto darted to wall beside it, pulling off his glove and pulling up his sleeve to allow a sensor to scan his barcode.

“Scanning production code.” A mechanical female voice informed them over the speaker. 

“C’mon,” He whispered to it as it slowly scanned him. 

“Unit 05953234 confirmed.” The voice continued. Prompto ignored it as he started to type on the keypad. “Quarantine Status Overridden. Opening Doors.” The voice continued.

Once more questions about the barcode bubbled up within her. How was it able to bypass all the keycards? How was it able to override the facility? 

There was a roar from somewhere deeper in the facility, and Prompto grimaced as he looked over his shoulder. “I’m going to set it to resume Quarantine again in a few seconds. You need to be ready. We don’t want to let this hell out in the world.”

“No.” Lunafreya agreed, “We don’t.” And speaking of that… she glanced at her club. It had been a trustworthy weapon, instrument in her survival of this place. But it had no place in the world outside the facility. 

True, she would need a weapon, for the world could be cruel and dangerous, but this was not the weapon for out there. She left it behind, leaning against a wall before racing to the edge of the door.

She waited with bated breath as Prompto continued typing in the keypad. The door slowly slid open. A gust of cold blew into the facility from outside. It was frigid and fresh in her lungs and she breathed in deeply.

“Quarantine Status Initiated in **five**.” The automated voice announced.

Prompto’s hand met her shoulder, but his gaze as fixed on the slowly opening crack. “C’mon, c’mon.” He whispered, his leg bouncing.

“**Four**.”

The door was open enough that she could squeeze through. It helped that the door was still steadily opening. Another roar from the bowels of the facility. She wondered if the cause was whatever had made Prompto panic earlier.

From the other side of the door, she could hear yelling. She hoped they weren’t about to step into a worse situation. Although there wasn’t much worse than being in a scourge infected facility.

“**Three**.”

Prompto was beside her, sliding through the barely opened gape of the door. 

“**Two**.” The voice was faint as she fell into snow. Prompto stumbled over on top of her, just as the door slammed shut like it hadn’t just been _opening_ a second ago. He rolled to the side, laying on his back.

“It can certainly close faster than it opens.” She complained. 

That seemed to be enough for Prompto as he burst into laughter. The type of laughter that screamed ‘I don’t believe I actually made it.’ “We’re alive!” He shouted to the sky. “We should celebrate by eating something dead.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She informed him. “Only five seconds, are you mad?!”

“I don’t believe it.” A new voice said. She recognized it only as one of the yelling voices she heard from within the facility.

“Nea~” Prompto half sung, half groaned. “I think your first act as Empress should be destroying all these hellholes. There’s no saving them.”

Lunafreya looked up to see a woman standing before them, apparently the Aranea/Nea that was Prompto’s pseudo sister in this world. Her first thought was that she wanted her hands on the spear Aranea was holding. Her second thought was that she probably wasn’t going to be able to get it easily. 

“Princess Lunafreya?” A man dressed in a shade of gray almost dark enough to be Lucian Royal black asked. He was the source of the other voice she had heard. He approached wearily, eyeing both her and Prompto like they weren’t real.

She nodded, and sat up, dusting the powdered snow off her borrowed clothes. “We saw you die.” Aranea snapped, twisting her spear so it was pointed at her.

“Hey!” Prompto shouted, getting to his knees and awkwardly shuffling in front of her. “No! No killing the princess I just _saved_.”

“I very nearly did.” Lunafreya replied. “I can only assume my continued life was divine intervention.”

Which wasn’t a lie exactly. Her continued life _was_, in fact, divine intervention. 

“She healed me, she’s legit.” Prompto added. “Trust me, Nea.”

Nea narrowed her eyes, and her spear did not waver. 

“Oh come on.” Prompto groaned.

There was a gust of particularly cold air and Lunafreya shivered before wrapping her arms around herself. One would have thought that being blessed by the Glacian would prevent one from getting cold, but apparently not.

“Such place of evil shalt be sealed.” Shiva’s voice had Lunafreya stiffening. Her eyes widened as another gust of wind blew, hard enough to force Aranea to turn her spear away and dig it into the ground to stabilize herself. 

The Astral of Ice walked past Aranea, barely sparing the woman a look. She did pause by Prompto for a second. Just long enough for Lunafreya to notice but not to know why. She stopped before the door, and raised a hand before looking over her shoulder at Lunafreya.

“A layer of light blessed ice shall suffice, till the Pyreburner’s Bonded may scorch the scourge within.”

Lunafreya stood, the wind that was still buffeting Aranea and the others somehow not affecting her. 

“Daemon!” She thought she heard Aranea shout, but it was lost to the wind. She approached the Astral and stood before the doors. Shiva smiled at her and nodded when she mimicked her pose. She inhaled sharply, tasting the ice and snow in the air and letting it fill her lungs.

She snapped her fingers and felt her magic react instantaneously alongside the gift Shiva had given her. 

Another gust of icy wind blew from behind her, hitting up against the door, which started to turn white from the amount of ice being caked. Snowflake fractals of glowing ice spread out across it like a web, an intricate knot of vines of ice in the shapes of snowflakes and sylleblossoms. None would question who exactly had sealed this door, for it was obvious that the power running through it was not only the power of the Oracle but the power of the Glacian as well.

The wind died down as the door was finally sealed, and Lunafreya fell to her knees. 

“Luna!” Prompto shouted and he was suddenly beside her and then before her. His hands were on her shoulders, and then on her face. His eyes were wide with panic and fear. 

“The Glacian has spoken.” She informed Prompto. “None shall enter or exit without our permission for as long as I live and breathe.”

“She really is the Princess.” The unknown man’s voice was filled with awe. She sighed and slipped forward into Prompto’s hold and shivered. She did not care for people’s admiration or respect. She was only doing what she could. 

She shouldn’t be admired or respected for what anyone else should do if in her position.

“Holy shit, Lunafreya.” Prompto shook his head, his hands running up and down her arms in a feeble attempt to keep her arm. “Wedge! Grab me the jacket?”

“Your highness.” The man, Wedge, said to her a few moments later, holding out a coat that looked better suited for Aranea than her. She accepted it with shaking hands, and with Prompto’s help, slipped it on.

“She’s weak from…” Prompto trailed off, nodding his head in the direction of the facility.

“Weak?” Aranea repeated. “She just…” She gestured at the door with the hand not on her spear. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the door. “How is this… the Empire slayed the Glacian. How could she…”

“You really think an Astral could be so easily slain by the Empire?” Lunafreya asked through chattering teeth. “She may be weakened, but I would hardly say she was slain.”

“You’re right.” Aranea nodded sharply. “I won’t ask for forgiveness for doubting you earlier, but I hope you’ll choose to allow us to escort to you to safety.”

Lunafreya looked over her shoulder at Prompto and smiled. “I am safe so long as I am with him. My life is in his hands.” She pulled the coat closer to her body and smiled, almost cheekily, at him as she teased him with the last line.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He promised.

For the first time since Nyx, she actually believed someone when they claimed that. She inhaled and exhaled deeply in relief and nodded. “I’m happy to hear that.” 

She turned her attention back to Aranea. “I do not blame you for questioning my identity. Were I in your shoes, I would do the same. Be at ease, Lady Highwind. I aim for peace, same as you.”

Aranea nodded, staring at Lunafreya like she didn’t know what to do with her. Or at least, that was what Lunafreya assumed that was what the expression meant.

“Right.” She said before turning her attention to Prompto. “Your timing is perfect, kid. Noon’s in a couple hours. If we get going within the hour, we can be in Gralea well before nightfall.” 

“Also,” She gave Prompto a once over before stalking over to him and punching him on the shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. “Don’t ever pull that stunt again, you hear me? You’re my little brother.” Her piece said, she stomped off to the small security building.

Prompto rubbed his arm where she punched him and made a face at her back. 

“What she means,” Wedge said, “was that if anything happens to her, people will be looking to _you_ to lead them. And once she’s Empress, _you’ll_ be the next in line unless she has children. You can’t pull stupid shit like this.”

Prompto visibly froze and paled, like Wedge’s words hadn’t occurred to him before now. “I’d be the crown prince.” His voice was very quiet and small, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now. 

“Obviously.” Wedge snapped. “You had us seriously worried kid. Not just because of that but because we care. We’d never forgive ourselves if something happened to you. Think about that next time you decide to play ‘hero’.”

She felt bad about hearing conversations obviously meant to be between Prompto and his companions. And not just the fact that she was hearing these conversations, but the content of them as well. Although, she could see where Prompto’s companions were coming from. 

She could also see that a distraction was clearly needed. Wedge didn’t seem keen to leave them alone, and it didn’t feel right to force Aranea to pack up everything alone. She could stay and sidetrack the conversation to save Prompto. Or she could go and see if she could assist Aranea.

Choices, choices, choices. For the first time, she really had some. Insignificant ones, to be sure, but still _choices. _She fidgeted in the snow, still shivering in the coat from her fall earlier and the power of the Glacian running through her. If she assisted Aranea, she would be able to at least escape some of the snow. 

She shot Prompto an apologetic look as she pulled away from him. The world spun around her – stasis, _again_? – but she didn’t kneel over. It was manageable. She was fine. She could do this. 

“Lunafreya?” 

“Your highness?”

Prompto and Wedge asked after her at the same time. She gave them both a smile – the one she gave Prompto more apologetic. “I’m going to join Lady Highwind inside.” She announced, not giving them the chance to deny her.

Prompto made a small little put out noise that was, admittedly, adorable; but didn’t try to stop her. It seemed Wedge was following his lead.

She made it to the small security shack with little difficulty, and was positively delighted to realize how much warmer it was inside. 

“I didn’t think you’d leave Blondie’s side.” Aranea commented, not even looking up from where she was packing up a bag. “Your life in his hands and all that.”

“There’s a time and a place for everything and everyone. That was neither a time nor place for me.” Lunafreya replied. “It did not feel right to leave you to pack up alone.”

“Right, because a princess knows about packing.” Aranea snorted. Her head was down so Lunafreya could not see if she rolled her eyes, although her tone implied it.

“I assure you, that just because I am a princess, I was treated no better than any other taken by the Research Facility. As for packing, I am a quick study. Tell what you need, and I will endeavor to assist.” 

Aranea finally looked up from her bag to stare flatly at Lunafreya for a few moments. After those moments passed, she burst into laughter as she threw her head back. 

“You’re serious.” She said through her laughter. “You’re genuinely serious.” She shook her head as the laughter died down and wiped away a tear. “Six, I needed that laugh.”

Lunafreya pursed her lips. For as much as she tried to be gracious, there were limits. Being laughed at for something genuine on her part was one such limit. She narrowed her eyes at the woman-who-would-be-empress. 

“I should hope that by the time you become Empress, you will have obtained the skills to better manage polite conversation.”

“No.” Aranea pointed a fin—were those _claws_ on her gloves?! – a _claw _at her. “I’m not.” She waved her hand away and stood. “I’m going to be just the way am I. We’ve had enough politicians and slimy military men. The people want someone who cares about them, who is honest and real.”

“And you think it’s meant to be you?”

“No.” Aranea replied with a single shake of her head. “But who else is it gonna be?” She countered, then before giving Lunafreya a chance to answer, she continued. “My House was the only to question the sensibility of this war with Lucis and the rest of the world; with the Astrals. They died for those questions, for the support those questions garnered.”

She rested one of her clawed hands against her hip. “Look, the people won’t accept a ruler outside the Houses, and of the options, mine is the best for the job.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s meant to be you.” Lunafreya replied, a little more soft with her tone now. 

“If only.” Aranea sighed with another shake of her head. “If I were honest, I’d rather just be a mercenary. Living from place to place, always on the go. Not having to care about nothing.” 

“What’s stopping you?”

“I can’t leave the people like they are. They’re sick, starving, and dying. This damn war has done nothing good and it’s time to end it. If no one else will step up, then I will.” 

“And if someone else does step up?”

“Someone else like who?” Aranea arched an eyebrow. “An heir or lord of the other houses? Don’t make me laugh. They’re all cowards, too entrenched in the military and licking Aldercapts boots to make a change. Glauca’s the only one I’d consider, but I doubt even he’d be the good the country needs.”

“You’d fight for the position, despite your dreams of freedom?” Lunafreya furrowed her eyebrows. Honestly, she could see Aranea as a mercenary. She had a wild feeling around her, a sense of freedom that Lunafreya hadn’t seen in a long while. 

Being empress would chafe at Aranea, and it was clear from the conversation that even Aranea knew that. But Aranea’s desire for her people’s happiness was outweighing her desire for freedom, and that, to Lunafreya, was a sign of a true leader.

Who knew, perhaps once Aldercapt was replaced, the rules could be altered to better suit Aranea’s nature.

“To ensure peace for my people: of course.” 

“It’s an honorable task.” 

Aranea snorted and rolled her eyes. “Honorable, huh?” She leaned forward; her eyebrow still arched. “And what would a captive princess know of ‘honor’, or even anything about ruling? Including ‘polite’ conversation.”

“I…” Lunafreya floundered as too many words and answers tried to work themselves out of her. She blinked as she looked down. She twisted her hands, almost frantically, like she could physically sort out her words if she just tried hard enough. “Not much.” She finally said after a few more moments of failed attempts.

The lie sat poorly in her gut and on her tongue, but it was necessary. She inhaled a shallow shaky breath, and continued with, “What I do know comes from Messengers.”

She had hoped to find out more about this world’s Messengers before dragging them into anything, but it was the lie she and Prompto had agreed upon. Any discrepancies in her knowledge could be explained away with either her captivity or Messengers.

She felt like Aranea’s gaze was burning into her as the woman’s eyes narrowed. She stood under her scrutiny for a few moments before Aranea looked way with a muttered, “Figures.” Then she cleared her throat and said, louder, “You gonna actually help me or just stand around ‘n look pretty?”

“What would you have me do?”

“Pack shit up in a bag. S’not hard.”

“Of course.” She nodded and set about to collecting similar and like items to the piles Aranea had already started. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is Gralea like?” She asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aranea started, looking up from the bag that she had resumed packing. “Gralea?” She blinked at Lunafreya as she repeated the name of the city. “You’ve been in Imperial Custody there since you were a toddler.” She said slowly, speaking as if Lunafreya were a child. 

“Exactly.” Lunafreya frowned and with a sigh, put down the paperwork she was holding to fold her hands in her lap. “Imperial Custody.” She could feel her lip curling as she spat the words out. Since she was a toddler… so long this Lunafreya spent under Imperial Custody. “Do you honestly believe they allowed me out and about, even in the Imperial City under guard?” She laughed, but the sound was humorless. “My view of Gralea has only ever been what they allowed it to be.”

“Well damn.” Aranea replied. “Makes me feel a little bad we won’t be staying for long. You’re a bit… recognizable.” She sucked on her teeth as she finished speaking, her gaze fixed on Lunafreya. 

It seemed she wasn’t to get an answer further than that, so with a quiet sigh, she resumed stacking the piles of documents into easily manageable piles to be packed. Thusly, she was startled when a few moments later Aranea spoke.

“Cold.” She started. “It’s cold, icy, and dark. The people try to quarantine off the scourge, but… well, it’s been slowly, but steadily, spreading.” She paused, and although Lunafreya hadn’t looked up to check, she was certain Aranea was looking at her. “Prompto thinks you can help with that.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from saying anything incriminating. She wished she could help, truly she did. But as things stood currently, she would need years of training to be as she once had been in the other world.

Years she feared this Gralea didn’t have, if things were truly as dire as Aranea’s description seemed to indicate.

“The people aren’t bad.” Aranea continued when Lunafreya didn’t say anything. “They’re scared, but they’re as tired of Aldercapt and this war as anyone else.” She paused again for a short moment. “Seeing you, once we get you into some better clothes, will be a relief.”

“I won’t be an icon for you to use to rally to your resistance, no matter how I might feel of it.”

“No, you’ve been used enough.” Aranea agreed. “But I hoped you’d still help our people. Maybe even help get our resistance on good terms with Queen Sylva.”

Her mother’s name was unexpected and Lunafreya dropped the papers to stare up at Aranea in shock. 

Her mother being alive was not something she had considered. Not once since waking in this new world had she any thought for the mother of this world’s Lunafreya, although it seemed that perhaps she ought to have.

“My mother?” She whispered.

She supposed she hadn’t thought of her mother here for a couple of reasons. The chief of which was that it had been twelve years since she last had to think of her mother in the living sense. Twelve years. Half of her life.

Another reason was that if her mother was alive, then surely she wouldn’t have allowed this world’s Lunafreya to be held captive by the Empire for so long. Aranea said she had been under Imperial Custody since she was a toddler!

How could her mother leave her?

And Aranea wanted her to speak on her behalf? What would she say? She didn’t even know this woman who shared the same name as her mother – but her mother would never leave one of her children in Imperial Custody. She had taken a _sword_ for Ravus for Astral’s sake! – how could she be expected to speak on Aranea’s behalf to her?!

Furthermore, how could she lie to this Lunafreya’s mother? Ravus she could probably get away with. He would assume any… inconsistencies to be a byproduct of her time with the Empire or as ‘Oracle stuff’, but her mother?

Her mother was an Oracle same as she. She would know. She would know that she was not this world’s Lunafreya. Not really.

“I…” She shook her head, and unbidden, her hand rose to her mouth and slightly curled. She felt nauseous, like the ration bars Prompto had given her earlier were throwing a party in her stomach and threatening to climb up out of her throat. “She’s still alive?” She finally choked out; the mere concept nearly unbelievable to her.

“Shit. What did they tell you?”

She shook her head, unable to answer Aranea’s question. She would let the silence speak for itself and allow the other to draw her own conclusions. She didn’t think she could speak anyways, not when she was still processing this all.

Shiva had said things could be different here, but Lunafreya wished that she had been forewarned about what some of those things were.

“Shit.” Aranea cursed again. “Uh, yeah. Queen Sylva is still alive.” There was more that Aranea wasn’t saying. Lunafreya could hear it in the awkward silence following her words, could see it in the way she averted her gaze. 

“I never imagined.” Lunafreya whispered. “After all these years…”

Her mind was torn, being tugged between the hope and desire for the mother she lost at only twelve years old, and the disbelief that this world’s Sylva would allow the Empire to steal one of her children.

“I’m sure it’s a shock.”

She choked out a startled laugh at Aranea’s words. Shock, that was certainly one way to put this entire situation. “I think I need some time to process this. Not just my mother, but all of this.”

This encompassing the whole ‘alternative world’ thing she and Prompto were dealing with. This being her mother being alive. This being her surviving that facility and Imperial Custody. 

Aranea ducked her head and frowned. “I understand.” She wasn’t happy with this, with Lunafreya asking for time, but obviously understood it was important if she was allowing her it. “We weren’t planning on announcing your safety to the public until after we could actually guarantee it.” She shrugged. “This falls into that, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm, don’t mention it.” 

Aranea reached out, slowly and carefully like Lunafreya was a wild animal that could snap at any time, and placed her hand on her shoulder. She held it there for a few seconds and offered a weak smile before removing it.

“Why don’t you go back out with the others? It won’t take me long to finish up here.” Aranea suggested. Lunafreya looked around at the room and privately disagreed. 

“Alright.” She nodded and stood before heading outside. 

Prompto wasn’t with Wedge but over by the tree line, staring out into the woods. Wedge, on the other hand, was by the door she had sealed, twisting his body around as he examined it. He looked over at her as she exited and raised a hand.

“This is amazing, your highness.” He informed her once she neared him. “I mean, we’ve all heard about the power a Bonded had, but this is… this is breathtaking.”

She hummed and ignored him in favor of staring up at the seal herself. She wondered if her mother – this world’s version of her – had the same ability over ice and snow as she apparently did. If so, then why…

It was pointless to question it. Her mind would just continue in loops and loops, with no respite until she could actually speak to the woman in question and find the truth.

She reached out and placed her palm against the seal. A pulse of cold raced through her, and she instantly regretted the choice and pulled back. She tugged her coat closer around her body and burrowed her face into the collar.

“Tell me,” She started as she replayed Shiva’s words in her mind, “does the Infernian have a Bonded?”

Was he still known as the Betrayer? Was he still the once ruler of Solheim? Had the Astral War been fought? How far back did the differences extend? 

“The Infernian?” Wedge repeated.

“Mm, yes.”

“No?” His response sounded more like a question. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment as she sighed. 

Clearly there was, or there would be, if Shiva was saying she needed the Pyreburner’s Bonded to clear the scourge. Did that mean that the infection could be burned away?

If that were the case, why did Shiva always favor the Oracles? Was it out of some sort of respect for her ‘deceased’ lover? Or was it out of a genuine love for humanity that caused her to seek out those with the most impact.

She missed Gentiana. She might have been truly Shiva, but she appeared as Gentiana the most, and it was Gentiana that Lunafreya had come to associate as her friend.

“Did the Glacian say something? Should we be looking for someone bonded to the Infernian?” Wedge’s eyes were wide as he asked the questions, his bodying turning towards her betraying his intense interest in the questions.

“The answers will come in time.” She replied. “They typically do. Usually when least expected.”

She had plenty of experience with such. How many times had Gentiana informed her of things she could never understand until later? Too many times. She assumed that this was just another such time.

“Ifrit has never had a Bonded.” Wedge said. “It’s said that it’s his punishment for the war that he cannot have a Bonded.”

Well, clearly that had changed, or would be changed. She needed the Ifrit’s Bonded if she ever wanted this place to be gone.

But with how Astrals existed, it was hard to say whether this Bond would occur in her lifetime. She assumed as much, since Noctis would, hopefully, destroy the scourge forever before he passed. Unless Noctis was to be Ifrit’s Bonded.

That… didn’t sound exactly right, but it did make some sense.

She was to be married to him, and what better match than the Bonded of Shiva and Ifrit, the Lovers? No matter her own personal feelings on the matter.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t love Noctis, because she did.

She truly did. There wasn’t a moment where she didn’t think on Noctis and not love him. She would grant him all the happiness he deserved and more if only it were in her power.

The idea to spend more time with him seemed like a dream. An impossible fantastic dream that she knew she could not have without first dooming the world.

Much like the main female lead of her favorite tragic love story, “Journey to Zanerkand.” 

However, for as much as she loved Noctis, love was not always necessarily equal, and the love which she felt for him was far different than the love displayed by Yuna and Titus in the story. Nor was it the same love as that which was shown in any other romance novel or movie she had perused.

Not that she had much time for such frivolities. Most of her time was taken by her duties – her destiny – and the free time to watch or read for her enjoyment was not something she could often afford. Even more so after she started her training to become the Oracle. 

It seemed even now she would have to put aside such things for her duties, again.

Then again… Shiva had said that things were different here; that they _could_ be different here. And while she needed to train to get this body up to par, most of her knowledge of being Oracle was already hers. Perhaps she could allot herself _some_ time for herself. 

“Luna?” Prompto touching her shoulder jarred her out of her thoughts, and she started, turning towards him with wide eyes. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare ya, but we’re getting ready to go.”

“Right.” She nodded. “I apologize, I was just… thinking.”

“No need to apologize, your highness.” Wedge said from behind Prompto. “I’m sure it’s startling to be out of Imperial Custody.”

She didn’t reply to that, if only because technically she _still_ was in Imperial Custody through Aranea. True, she wasn’t with the government, but Lunafreya would never be free from the Empire until she was behind Lucian walls or in the halls of Fenestala Manor. 

At least she knew she could trust Prompto. 

The trip through the forest was largely uneventful with the exception of a pair of patrolling MTs that were quickly and efficiently dispatched by Aranea with a grace that made Lunafreya envious. Even fully trained, she had never that power or grace with her tridents and spears, although Aranea’s style was something she had never before seen.

Aranea grinned at her as she pulled her spear out of the back of one of the MTs. “Liked what you saw, princess?”

“I can’t say I’m familiar with that form.”

“I’d be surprised if you were.” Aranea’s spear was stuck in the ground, and she leaned forward with one clawed hand on her hip. “It’s an old family art.” She pulled the spear out of the ground and flipped it around to store it back on her back, and then jerked her head. “Let’s get going before more come to investigate.”

The rest of the trip passed quickly, and before she knew it, Prompto was helping her over a low wall, and through a gap in a chain link fence. “We’re almost there.” He whispered to her as she pulled up the hood on her coat. “Once we get into Gralea, we’ll be on the first train out towards Vogliupe.”

Vogliupe, so close and yet so far from the cliffs of Ulwaat where the manor was. If they got on the right trainline, it would take her right past her childhood home. She didn’t comment on that, but instead said, “So close to Ghorovas Rift?”

The face Prompto made at the name made her wonder if there was some traumatic experience that happened there. Beyond the obvious of it being the place where Shiva ‘fell’. 

She wouldn’t be surprised if there was. It seemed every second of the princes’ time in Niflheim had been difficult and traumatic.

“The train passes by.” Prompto finally responded, still making a face like he’d eaten something unpleasant. 

Lunafreya hummed, considering that. 

It was surprising that Aranea would set up her base so close to where Shiva had fallen. Shiva had not been forgiving in her world for her ‘death’, and she doubted that the Shiva of this world was much different in that regard.

However, the blizzards and hazardous weather would certainly keep the Empire’s men away. There was no better deterrent for a hidden rebel base than by the body of the goddess the Empire slayed. And perhaps, since Aranea’s family had objected to the slaying, and she was against the Empire now… perhaps Shiva had granted her some respite?

“We’re not particularly close, though.” He continued a few seconds later. He glanced around and then leaned down close to her to whisper, “We’re in the Nibel Mountains, northwest of the rift.”

“Thank you, Prompto.”

Northwest of the rift… it wasn’t as close to the manor as she had thought, but it was close to the border of Tenebrae. Temptingly close. It wouldn’t take much for her to cross the border out of the Empire and into the much friendly and safer hands of her kingdom.

Then again, how safe was her kingdom really? It was ruled by a mother she didn’t know. A mother who had apparently _left_ her in the Empire’s hands since she was a toddler. What had led to this agreement?

She supposed that she would understand in time. It was given since Aranea wanted her to speak to her mother on her behalf… but, Lunafreya couldn’t help but to want to put the event off.

This whole situation left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, like the time she had eaten too much Tenebraen Berry Opera when she was little. Everything about the situation was rotten. From this world’s Lunafreya passing, to her being a captive of the Empire since she was a toddler, to her mother being alive.

Nothing made sense to her. 

And despite knowing she would have to wait for answers, these thoughts kept returning to her like flies swarming around a carcass. No matter how much she swatted them away, they just kept coming back, buzzing in her face with relentless abandon.

The stop at a weapons shop was a welcome distraction. Even if it was to _sell_ back the weapons rather than buy anything else. While Aranea and Wedge spoke with the store owner and argued prices, Lunafreya wandered around the store, eyeing the spears with a critical eye.

“You had a trident, didn’t you?” Prompto asked as she ran her hand over the shaft of a gleaming Ice Spear. She nodded without looking at him, and agreed with a quiet hum. “Were you any good with it?”

“It served me well, yes.” She replied, pulling herself away from the spear. “I’m afraid I’ll need some training to match my previous skill.”

Prompto hummed and crossed his arms. His gaze was thoughtful as it fixed itself on the Ice Spear she had just been looking at. “We can help get you into shape. Maybe Aranea can give you some lessons?”

“It is a very distinctive and beautiful style.” She commented. “Different from the style I was taught… I’m not sure it’ll be a good fit for me. Furthermore, I doubt she would be willing to give away her family arts so easily.”

“For the Oracle,” Here Prompto paused and grimaced before correcting himself, “Well, _future_ Oracle, she might.” He shrugged. “Never know till you ask.”

“Speaking of asking, why return the weapons and sell the one you found? Would it not be better for their rebellion to keep them?”

“They aren’t allowed on the train as an anti-rebel measure.” Prompto replied. 

It took all of Lunafreya’s will power not to snort. Like that would stop Aranea. She hadn’t known the woman for but a few scant hours, and already she could tell that she was driven and determined. There would be little that could stop her when she was decided upon an action.

That could either bode well or poorly for her when she took the throne, but only time would be able to tell the true outcome. 

“If they were,” Prompto continued, “I’d be trying to see if we could get you that Ice Spear. It’d be devastating in your hands, especially if you can stack with the elemental vein used in the blade.”

She hummed and ran her hand up to the blade, where she could feel the ice magic pooling in the blade, just waiting to inflict icy damage upon any cut upon the blade. 

She had trained with practice spears and tridents all her life, preparing herself for the day she would wield the Oracle’s Trident. It was the only weapon that truly mattered to her, so she never really considered any other weapon.

Now, however, she had no choice, and the lack of choice opened her eyes to the myriad of choices available to her. Spears, tridents, halberds, polearms… the world was her playground, and each weapon – which had their own individual quirk – were her toys.

Prompto said the blade of the Ice Spear had been crafted using an elemental vein, but she couldn’t imagine how it was done. The only ones with the power of Elemancy was the royal family of Lucis. How could others harness the powers of the veins to create such weapons as this?

Was it a skill passed down through the ages from a time before the Crystal, when magic ran rampart across the land? Or was it a technique newly learned? 

“Only the Royal Family of Lucis may use Elemancy.” She commented. 

Prompto shrugged. “The Empire’s still trying to figure out how to imbue weapons like that, but the closest they can get is weapons made from the elemental veins. You don’t need Elemancy for that.”

“I suppose not.” She sucked on her bottom lip for a second before turning to face Prompto. “Do you really think Aranea would help me?”

“Help you with what?” 

Lunafreya jumped and spun around, her eyes wide as she stared at the woman. Her words were uncharacteristically caught in her mouth. Years of diplomacy and etiquette lessons suddenly useless in the face of her speechlessness.

“Weapon training.” Prompto chirped. “I’d help, but she’s interested in your kinda stuff.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Prompto gesture to the Ice Spear. “You remember the last time I tried a spear.”

Aranea’s nose wrinkled at the reminder, a grimace tugging at her lips as her gaze darted between the spear and Prompto. “A mistake I won’t be making again.” She assured him. “You stick with your guns and machinery, and I’ll stick with my spears.”

“Exactly why I thought you’d be best to train Luna.”

Lunafreya arched an eyebrow at the nickname, a nickname that she had only given _Noctis_ permission to call her. She pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything. Making a fuss would be counter active towards the idea of keeping quiet about her rescue from Imperial Custody.

“And why do you want to learn spears?”

“It will be my duty one day to wield a similar weapon. I have already missed out on so much training, I thought it prevalent to start as soon as possible.”

Aranea hummed and rested on her hands on her hips. “That so? So Shortcake suggested you ask me.” Prompto made a noise behind her at the nickname ‘Shortcake’. She privately thought it served him right for calling her ‘Luna’ without permission.

Not that she wouldn’t give it to him should he ask.

“Yes, however, I wasn’t sure you would be open to the idea, considering your style is your family’s art. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I know more than just the Dragoon style, Buttercup.” Buttercup? Another nickname that she did not give permission for bestowed upon her. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this one. “But I’m a bit advanced for you, yet. Once we’re at Home, I’ll check if anyone wants to give you a hand.”

“Speaking of Home,” Wedge added, walking up to join them. “The last train leaves in a few. If we want to make it to the station on time, we gotta go.” Wedge didn’t even finish what he was saying before heading to the door, Aranea following for a second before overtaking him and leading the way.

Lunafreya was quick to catch on and quickly joined them, with Prompto pulling up in the rear.

“Last?” Prompto repeated. “Like, if we don’t catch it we have to stay a night in Gralea last?”

“Yeah.” Aranea replied over her shoulder. “And after the last time you spent in a night in Gralea, I’m not keen on a repeat performance.”

“I didn’t mean to get stuck.” Prompto whined. “It’s not like I planned to spend a month in Gralea.”

Aranea didn’t say anything but did look over her shoulder at him to arch her eyebrow and give him the most unimpressed look Lunafreya had ever seen. Which was saying something because she had lived with _Ravus._

They made it to the station with only a minute to spare. A minute spent hastily making sure that Lunafreya was secure had a pass with a false identity proclaiming her as ‘Stella Klauser’ from the town of Liz. 

“Liz?” She asked as she sat down beside Prompto. He had been bouncing his leg, but halted once she spoke.

“It’s not far from Home.” He explained. “No one would think much about you being on this train being from there.”

Home must be the code word for the base they operated out of, although, she supposed that it was ‘home’ to some, namely Aranea. She couldn’t imagine Prompto thinking of anywhere other than Insomnia home when he had considered it as such through his previous life in the other world.

It would be like her considering anything other than Fenestala Manor as home. The idea seemed inconceivable. Although, she supposed the Prompto that had been replaced might have seen the base as home. 

She doubted, however, that this world’s Lunafreya thought anything positive of her captors. She especially doubted that she considered a research facility as ‘home’.

“I see.” She nodded slowly. “Tell me, is there much information at Home?”

“Depends.” Prompto replied. “Not much on Lucis, but there’s some stuff on Tenebrae and Accordo and _plenty _on Niflheim.”

“I would imagine.” 

The train finally started to move, and she sighed as she shifted to watch the landscape as it passed. Not that there would be much to look at given Shiva’s curse upon the land. It was almost enough to make her think that nothing had really changed at all.

Except quite a bit had, and now it was up to her to navigate this strange, but familiar, world on her own. Well, she mentally amended as she eyed Prompto out of the corner of her eye, not entirely on her own.

She wasn’t alone, not just in being in this world, but in her new mission to serve the Crystal and the Six and ensure the end of the scourge. She supposed that was all she could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have the next chapter written, so it might be a while until it is. I apologize for the wait.


	4. THE TACTICIAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Belated New Year! 2020! Wow! I'm sorry things have been hectic these past couple months. Between my dad's surgery, the holidays, and job interviews... a lots been happening. I actually have an interview on 1/9/2020 and 1/10/2020 with two separate places. If I rock the interview on the 9th, then there's a good chance I'll get a new job. 
> 
> I'll be working two full time jobs if I get the offer... so I might not have as much time to write. But we'll see how this all goes. 
> 
> Anyways, here's the next chapter!!

The sun rose in tandem with the sinking of Ignis’ heart.

He could feel the warmth of the light upon his skin, like a blessed kiss after so long of darkness. The hisses of the daemons were a melodious sound after years of suffering under their torment. His daggers sliced through daemons as if they were made of smoke as their flesh gave away to the misty miasma of the scourge.

The end of the end had begun. The end of the scourge, of the Long Night, and the World of Ruin. 

And that meant… It meant that the moment that Ignis had been both eagerly anticipatingly and anxiously dreading with equal intensity for the last ten years had finally come to pass: Noctis was dead.

He had hoped for another way, but the gods’ wills and fate were not something easily avoided. What was happening now had been ordained by the Astrals since time immemorial. 

“IGNIS!” Gladio’s shouted warning came too late. The lapse in attention was all it took for one of the dying daemons to take the opportunity presented. The sound of Gladio fighting to reach him echoed in his ears like the echo of Prompto’s gunfire. His hands found the weapon lodged in his chest, and he laughed weakly, wetness spilling from his mouth.

A sword to the chest…

How fitting that he mirrored the state of his King when he had just been thinking of that. He heard in crystal clarity the slick sick noise his body made when the blade slid out and he fell to his knees. He already knew he would not live without Noctis. This was merely a means to an end, a way to ensure Noctis could complete his duty in peace. And now that the sun had begun its ascent, he could join his King. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t the only in the Retinue to follow. Prompto had promised to ever be at Noctis’ side, and it was Gladio’s sworn duty to follow Noctis.

He blinked, a tear sliding down his face and falling to the tile of the throne room. He blinked again, and then again before staring bewildered at the tile. “How?” He murmured, raising his head once he was certain the wound that had killed him was no more. 

He looked up to the throne hesitantly, suddenly fearful that the image that had been burned into his brain would be there. But no. 

There was no slumped body impaled by his father’s sword. No fallen King for him to mourn. Just a small mint colored fox with a red crystal horn that looked at him with eyes too intelligent to belong to any animal.

“Oh dear.” The creature’s voice was a quiet squeak in the chamber, echoed by the high ceilings and hard surfaces. “Not again.”

Not… again?

The creature jumped down from the throne and took the stairs a few at a time, leaping down with an ease that told of how often the creature navigated the citadel despite Ignis never having seen it before. It was before him in a few seconds and looked up at him with luminescent eyes. As he stared back down at it, he realized that he had seen a likeness of the creature somewhere before.

One of Noctis’ bobbers, maybe. A toy? A decal on the Regalia? 

It was hard to place exactly, but it was definitely tied to Noctis.

“You’ve made a deal with the Lucii too.” The creature complained, wrinkling it’s nose in what could have been dismay. “A different deal.”

“This one never received our full light.” Ignis’ spine automatically straightened at the not unfamiliar voice of one of the Lucii. He had only heard their voice once, but it had echoed in his dreams since that meeting. “The price paid, power given and taken. There is no toll due on _this_ soul.”

What?

“He shalt not be free to roam as he pleases.” A voice like thunder boomed. The small creature before Ignis bowed its head and laid its ears flat before bouncing back up to the throne. A laugh he recognized as belonging to Shiva echoed in the chamber, as soft and quiet as newly fallen snow.

“Tis my right to claim this one.” It was not Shiva who spoke, but someone else. The voice sounded old and frail, but there was a strength in it that shook Ignis to the bones. He had been wrong to assume the first voice was like thunder. The rumble of this new one sounded more of rolling thunder than the first voice ever could have.

“He will be in my city.” Unlike the other voices, this one sounded like nothing Ignis had ever heard before. It brought to mind the sea pounding on the shore during a storm, of a thousand sailors singing a shanty, of the graceful feminine wiles of the fabled sirens styled after the Messenger of the same name. “He will be mine.”

Unease prickled at the back of Ignis’ neck. He had a feeling he knew who these voices were, who they belonged to. What they wanted, however, was lost on him. He was not of the Oracle’s blood. He was never meant to hear the words of the Astrals as he did now. 

“Leviathan.” The first unknown voice – Bahamut, he assumed – growled. “Thou has not cared for mortals since time immemorial.”

“The one with Storm in his blood and born in my name was not mine! Why should this one, who is only in your city, be yours?” The rolling thunder – Ramuh, most likely – argued. Was he talking about a Galahdan? Were there others like Ignis who had experienced death only to end up here?

If it were a Galahdan, did that mean there had been a Glaive who had stood where Ignis still kneeled, listening to the judgement of the Astrals?

“I care less for a storm not of my own within _my_ walls.” Leviathan’s response was probably meant to be a growl, but it came out like roar. “If he is to be placed, he will be Bonded to me.”

“You have never cared for a Bonding before.” Shiva replied, her comment still soft like drifting snow. It was spoken carefully, slowly, like she was considering something or perhaps concerned about the Tidemother’s wrath. “Might I offer a solution to this conundrum?”

The Astrals, even Bahamut were quiet. Ignis assumed they were waiting for Shiva to elaborate. He blinked and she was suddenly beside the throne, smiling down at him. She pet the small fox creature – which flattened it’s ears further. 

“Oh no.” The creature’s whisper did little to put Ignis at ease.

Shiva ignored the creature. “There is another,”

“Another?” Bahamut interrupted.

“Who is unclaimed.” Shiva continued as if Bahamut had not said anything at all. “His presence was required to ensure my latest’s survival. Since there are now two who lack the Bond, you both may have one.”

“Show me him.” Both Leviathan and Ramuh announced together. Shiva smiled – a sharp icy smile – and vanished in a flurry of snowflakes.

Ignis did not fidget as silence descended down upon the throne room despite the sudden itch to. Nor did he speak up to ask what exactly was going on. He would learn more by listening, and he doubted the Astrals would answer him even if he did decide to ask.

“Very well.” Ignis couldn’t help the jump as Bahamut’s voice echoed in the chamber. “If that is what is decided, then he will be placed and Bonded.”

To who? What did they mean? Ignis wanted to ask, and the fear that he would never know drove him to open his mouth in preparation for the questions. Yet before he could voice his concerns, the ground beneath him caved and he fell into darkness. 

~

“Blessed Stars of Life and Light…”

The first thing that Ignis realized was that he was laying on the ground. He blinked up at the slightly obscured evening sky in mild wonder. Tall buildings – Altissian architecture, he noted – blocked most of the view. 

Vaguely, Ignis recalled Leviathan’s scathing comment about him being in _her_ city. Which, to his knowledge, wasn’t possible unless he had been sent back in time or something equally crazy had happened. 

“…deliver us from darkness' blight." 

No. He couldn’t have been sent to the past. The past would have Prompto and Noctis kneeling beside him, looking down at him with the shattered remains of an elixir or potion in one of their hands; and Gladio looking down at him from above them with his mouth set in a scowl that Ignis knew meant he was worried. 

He couldn’t have been in the past because the only time he had met with Ravus in Altissia was after everything had gone to – for lack of a better term – shit. He hadn’t been with Ravus while the city was still whole. 

The Tenebraen prince was kneeling beside him, whispering the Oracle’s prayer like a life depended on it. Ignis’ hand was clasped firmly between Ravus’ and held up to the prince’s bowed head. “Blessed Stars…” Ravus froze and looked up. 

The first thing Ignis noted was the streak of _something _on Ravus’ face. The second thing was the wave of horror, terror, relief that washed through Ravus’ mismatched eyes as his gaze met Ignis’. The third thing he noticed was that Ravus’ hands were coated in blood. “Hold on Ignis; help is coming.”

Ignis blinked.

The cacophony of hospital noises seemed to assault him all at once. The steady beeping of machines, the squeaking of wheels from the carts and gurneys, the sounds of people arguing.

… Well, the people arguing where actually in the room with him. He blinked a few more times until the blurry room came into focus and he could successfully identify the two arguing at the end of his bed.

Ravus was the first person Ignis identified. The prince was sitting on the only available chair, his hands clasped, and head bowed. It was hard to tell, but Ignis thought that the prince might have been cleaned up some – it appeared that streak and bloody hands were gone. 

“What were the two of you thinking?” Weskham stood a little off to the side of Ravus, one hand on his hip and the other gesturing in the air. “Did you even consider what might have happened if Ignis hadn’t taken that blade, and _you_ were the one laying on this bed instead? Do you even think about your _mother_?”

“Leave my mother out of this.”

“I can’t. Not when she would bring Shiva’s wrath upon me if anything happened to you.” Weskham replied, shaking his head. “Not to mention the scandal this could cause. You’re old enough I shouldn’t have to babysit either of you.”

Ravus fidgeted and looked up at Weskham for less than a second before cutting his gaze away towards the nearest wall. 

Neither of them had realized that Ignis had woken. Part of him wanted to inform them immediately, but another part of him whispered to keep his silence. Information tended to slip during arguments, and he very desperately wanted any information he could get.

Weskham was apparently not done with his scolding for his continued with, “You are not the Oracle, Ravus. No amount of prayer could save you or Ignis.”

“But it did!” Ravus argued back immediately. His gaze snapped back to Weskham, and unlike before, Ravus held it. Despite the meek appearance he had shown only moments before, the sharpness of his tone fit much easier with Ignis’ memory of Ravus.

Weskham did not apparently have a response. Which seemed to be fine by Ravus as he continued. “I may not have the powers, but the blood runs through me all the same. It was apparently enough for them to hear and grant my prayers.” 

Ignis was obviously missing some bit of key information. A bit of key information that he hoped would make things magically start to make sense.

The best guess he had was time travel, but that didn’t make any sense at all. The alternative guess was that he had been thrown into some sort of alternative reality. One where he was in Altissia with _Ravus_, and Ravus was suddenly devote to the Astrals. 

Or at least didn’t hate them as much as the Ravus Ignis remembered did.

“Did his heart stop?” Weskham asked, gesturing with both hands to where Ignis was. He closed his eyes and hoped that neither of them had noticed he was awake.

The responding silence was torturous, and part of him feared that he had been caught before Ravus replied, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Weskham scoffed. “You know exactly what it means. You’ve saved his life only to curse it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything!” Ravus repeated. “He’s not _Bonded_!”

Bonded. Bahamut had said something similar. There was a thought to break his façade of still being out and ask, but he had found during his decade in darkness that most questions tended to answer themselves if one just waited and listened.

“How can you be so sure? Which Astral answered the prayer, Ravus?”

“It’s just a story.” Ravus didn’t exactly whisper, but his voice was significantly quieter. 

“I wish it were.” Weskham sighed, sounding entirely too old for his actual age. “Trust me, it’s not just a story.”

“…You know someone Bonded this way.” It wasn’t a question so much as an affirmation of a fact. Weskham must have nodded for Ravus continued. “Those raised by the whims of the Astrals can not always become Messengers. If they did, then how many Messengers would Bahamut or Shiva have from the blessing of Phoenix Downs or Havens alone?”

“This miracle was not from a Phoenix Down or Haven.” Weskham pointed out. “The Bonded I know is to the Archaeon.” 

The arguing of the Astrals that Ignis had been privy to, and the conversation occurring now between Ravus and Weskham was painting a very unflattering picture about the nature of ‘Bonding’. 

When he was little, he had asked his uncle how the Messengers were made. According to Cosmogony, there were only twenty-four, which to him had seemed like a very small number to have. His uncle had rapt his knuckles for blasphemy and sent him on his way. Ignis hadn’t thought about the creation of Messengers again. Until this exact moment.

He had a sinking suspicion that he was going to find out how Messengers were made in a very personal intimate way. 

The question was, which of the arguing Astrals had he been Bonded to? 

Was he a Messenger of the wise and wizened Fulgurian and Stormsender, Ramuh? Was he Bonded to the unpredictable winds and lightning, to the storms of chaos and the small pocket of peace that laid in the eye? 

Or was he Bonded to the powerful and dangerous Hydraeon and Tidemother, Leviathan? Did he owe allegiance now to the dangerous dark depths and tides? 

How would he know? What would he do as a Messenger?

Would the other Messengers of the specific Astral assist him, or would he be left to fumble his way? He knew not all of the Messengers had survived the War of the Astrals. And some, like Garuda, had been imprisoned or trapped. 

… He should probably see if he could help her out again. She might be able to assist him with any new duties as a Messenger. It would be difficult without the others, but it was still worth looking into.

The conversation seemed to have lulled, so it fell to Ignis to spark it back up by faking his awakening. He groaned as he opened his eyes. Weskham was at his bedside immediately as if he had used the Kings’ magic to warp. 

“Ignis,” There was a slight static shock when Weskham’s hands touched him, but nothing painful or terribly noticeable. “How are you feeling? What do you remember?”

Reasonable questions for someone waking in the hospital. Alas, Ignis suspected that Weskham would not appreciate the answers Ignis would give if he were truthful. 

Very few, Ignis imagined, would appreciate him talking of the end of the world, the decade of night and darkness. Even fewer would appreciate his tale of Noctis’ return and subsequent death to bring forth the dawn. 

He would likely be given a mental evaluation if he even so much as breathed a word of his own death, and the following conversation – if one could call it that – with the Astrals.

He licked his lips and ignored how dry his mouth felt at the action. “The details are a bit foggy, I’m afraid.” Ignis replied after a moment. “What happened?” 

Weskham and Ravus exchanged a look before Ravus returned his gaze to Ignis.

“You saved my life.” Ravus answered him in a snappy ‘matter of fact’ way that was entirely in line with the Ravus that Ignis knew. 

“Don’t worry about not remembering.” Weskham assured him. “The doctor said that memory loss was common in patients who had a Near Death Experience. And you would have died had Ravus not pulled a miracle out of nowhere.”

Could Ravus’ prayers be the reason that he had been pulled into… whatever this was. At this point, Ignis was willing to go with alternate reality, if only because nothing else made sense. But why him? If alternate realities was a thing, then out of all the other countless Ignises that there had to be, why him in particular?

Or was it random? 

He feared he would never know.

“Thank you.” He said, instead of all the other questions and theories that wanted to bubble out. 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Ravus replied, an almost bitter tone to his voice. “Weskham seems to think you’re Bonded.”

Well, there was no ‘thinking’ about it. Ignis was. Bahamut had said as much. The question still remained, however: to who?

He closed his eyes, and turned his gaze mentally inward. Ignis couldn’t say with any certainty how King Regis’ magic felt, but he knew the feeling of Noctis’. The feeling of liquid sun under his skin, shining too bright and hot, yet actually using it felt crystalline and cool. He had long associated it to his oaths of fealty to Noctis. 

That sensation was gone now. Replaced by a feeling not to dissimilar to that of being near a live wire or metal in a thunderstorm. Its attention had been elsewhere, but now that Ignis was staring as the churning abyss, the eye of the storm finally turned its gaze towards him.

“You’re awake.” The voice was rolling thunder, and the accompanying smile of the figure standing in the middle of the storm was akin to the dancing glow of a thousand lightning strikes.

It seemed whoever the unknown unbonded had been was enough for Leviathan to allow Ramuh within her walls. He wished the unknown person the best of luck, and hoped that they wished the same of him.

He opened his eyes and considered Weskham and Ravus with equal intensity. Weskham was right, but there was merit to the idea of siding with Ravus and pretending that he wasn’t.

“A tactician.” Ramuh’s words were the whisper of falling rain on a window. “I knew you would be best suited to me.” If Ravus or Weskham heard the Astral speak, they made no comment of it.

Then again, wasn’t the job of the Messengers to bring the Astrals words to the People, just as the Oracle’s was to bring the word of the People to the Astrals? Or was he mistaken and had that backwards? 

It was hard to tell when the Oracle had been doing the job of both for centuries.

Still, if Ramuh could speak to him at any time, then it would be wise to inform Weskham and Ravus. Who knew what other affects being an Astral’s Messenger would cause. 

“I believe Weskham to be correct.” Ignis informed them both with a slightly bowed head. 

Ravus’ face _fell_ before it was hastily replaced with a straight poker face. Weskham’s face fell, and remained fallen. “To who?” The old barkeeper asked, his voice a whisper like saying it aloud would only confirm the elder’s fears.

“The Fulgurian.” 

“’The Fulgurian’?” Ravus shook his head. “No. Altissia is the Hydraean’s territory. She would not allow another within her walls.” 

“And yet she did.” Ignis replied. “I can’t claim to speak for the Hydraean or her intentions in allowing Ramuh to claim me within her city.” And he was most certainly not going to tell either of them about how Leviathan and Ramuh had fought over him before Shiva sacrificed some poor person to Leviathan.

“The Tidemother has seldom cared for the whims of man and Bonding.” Weskham crossed his arms. “But you are correct: It is pointless to try to guess the intentions and plans of the Astrals. We can only work with what we have been given and the facts that we hold to be true, and the fact is that Ignis has been claimed by the Fulgurian.” 

“And what proof is there of this claim?” The look Ravus shot Ignis was one of apology, and had he not been inferring that Ignis was _lying_, then perhaps he would have accepted it. 

But the fact of the matter was that Ignis was not lying. Not about being Bonded to an Astral, at any rate. 

He was _Bonded_ to the Fulgurian; Ramuh’s magic sitting where only Noctis’ should have. He was presumably in some alternate reality where he was for some inexplicable reason in Altissia with Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae; and _NOT_ in Lucis with his true King. His eyesight had been restored, all the struggles he had gone through during the last decade _erased_. 

And Ravus thought he was _lying_ about being Bonded to Ramuh.

“I.” Ignis ground out, electricity sparking from him. “…am not _lying_.” At the word ‘lying’ the machines near Ignis went out in a flurry of electric sparks and smoke that sent both Ravus and Weskham wheeling back.

At the word ‘lying’, the cloudy skies outside thundered, like a judge’s gravel coming down upon a decision; the sound loud enough to shake the building. At once, the lights and electricity of the hospital went out.

All was dark and quiet for a single moment – the calm before the storm – before chaos erupted outside the doors. There was a flurry of shouts, yells, and screams from staff and patients alike. Ignis was bathed in shameful darkness for a few moments until the generators finally sputtered to life, returning light, power, and sanity to the building.

Weskham and Ravus were both staring at Ignis with equally wide eyes. 

Ignis immediately diverted his gaze, looking down at his clutched hands. It took him a moment to work out releasing the bed spread, and then another to start smoothing out the wrinkles from his grip. He swallowed thickly. The gravity of the situation felt worse than getting smacked by a Red Giant’s blade. 

“There’s your proof.” Weskham’s words weren’t spoken in a whisper, but they were definitely of a lower volume. “Shit, I haven’t seen anything like that since…” Weskham cut himself off abruptly and cleared his throat. “We should get you discharged since you’re physically fine now.”

He didn’t need to add ‘before you cause more trouble’ for Ignis to hear it. He didn’t see Weskham leave, but he certainly heard the door open and close. 

Ignis continued to smooth out the bed spread, and only froze once a slim elegant hand was placed over his. Ignis’ gaze traced the hand before following it to the wrist, the arm, the shoulder, the neck… before finally he was looking Ravus in his mismatched eyes.

Although Ravus squeezed his hand, he felt it like a physical hold on his heart and throat. He swallowed thickly again.

“I’m sorry, Ignis, for the burden I have placed upon you. It was never my intention to cause this.” Ravus’ words were uncharacteristically quiet, but the sincerity was louder than the rolling thunder that echoed outside.

It felt like the hand squeezing his heart and throat had tightened its grasp. He was no longer certain his heart _could_ beat with how tight it felt.

Ravus thought that _he _was the reason Ignis was now a Messenger. He thought that _his prayer_ to save Ignis’ life was what had caused the Astrals to save him – thus making him a Messenger. And maybe Ravus was right. Maybe that was the reason that Ignis was a Messenger.

But Ravus had been praying for _his_ Ignis. The Ignis that had been here before. And well, it was no one’s fault but the Astrals that Ignis was here instead. 

He wanted to say something to reassure Ravus. To lift the guilt off the prince’s shoulders, but the words sounded like white snow in his head, and tasted like static in his mouth. His tongue was numb, unwilling and unable to speak words, even if Ignis could think of something to say.

He doubted Ravus would want to hear them anyways. Empty platitudes and reassurances would do little for either of them.

After what seemed like a millennia, the words, “I don’t blame you,” finally spilled out of Ignis’ mouth. 

Because he didn’t. Not really. It wasn’t Ravus’ fault that Ignis was here in this situation. The Astrals were the ones who tore Ignis away from a possibly happy afterlife serving his King, and threw him here to force him to serve one of their own.

Ravus was only trying to save a friend; and were Ignis in the same position, he was sure he would have done the same.

Ignis could not fault him for that.

Given Ravus’ reaction to finding out that Ignis was a Messenger, he almost feared the response when he learned Ignis was from another reality. _IF_ Ravus found out at all. After all, Ignis was in the hospital after a traumatic experience during which he _died_. He would not blame anyone if they did not take his tale seriously.

If it was not for the vividness of his memories, he might have doubted them to be true himself.

But no. He _knew_ the feel of Noctis’ magic humming under his skin, and he _knew_ that was no lie or fabricated memory. He would not doubt his memories. He would not doubt himself.

The door opened again as Weskham re-entered the room. “It’s going to take some time for the discharge paperwork due to the outage, but… you’ll be going home soon.” 

The hand still squeezing Ignis’ heart threw it to the ground and an invisible foot stomped down upon it for Ignis suspected that home would not be Insomnia.

~

Home, Ignis discovered, was a townhome located a short canal ride away from Maagho. He was apparently neighbored to both Weskham and Ravus; with Ravus’ townhome nestled between theirs. It was quaint and logical. Had it ever come up that Noctis wanted a place in Altissia, it was a set up that Ignis would have suggested with Gladio and himself on either side of Noctis.

The only real surprise was how mundane and _civilian_ it seemed. The Ravus that Ignis knew would have never settled for something so… plebian. 

He marked it as yet another difference between the Ravus’, and attributed the change to the fact Ravus was living in Altissia in general. He didn’t know much of the Ravus of his reality, in all honesty, but he assumed that his primary residence had either been with Niflheim or in Fenestala Manor in Tenebrae.

He couldn’t speak for the Imperial housing, but Ignis knew that Fenestala Manor was perhaps one of the only places that could rival the Citadel in its grandeur.

The townhome wasn’t large by any means. It was a simple two bedroom, with the second bedroom presumably being set up as a guest room. Based on the décor and furniture, Ignis should have felt right at home, standing in the modest living room.

Except, he wasn’t the Ignis who had lived here before despite their similar tastes. He was a stranger in what was _supposed_ to be his own home, and the feeling left him quite unsettled.

He hadn’t examined the bookcases yet, but he could already tell that a good majority of the books in the many cases mirrored those that had been in Ignis’ Insomnian apartment. Similar art pieces – and some the same – that had been on his wall were here as well. Even the furniture placement was similar to what Ignis would have chosen – even down to the rolled desk in the corner. 

It was like the world had been shifted two degrees left; everything was _right_, but entirely _wrong_ at the same time.

He wondered if the other(s) who shared his predicament had similar situations of discomfort, or if they had just fallen into their ‘new’ lives without a hitch. 

It appeared that Ravus was a frequent guest as he had his own key – which gave Ignis pause as to the nature of their relationship – which had opened the way for the trio, before the prince had made himself at home on one of the couches. The sprawl was somewhat reminiscent of Gladio in a way that made Ignis’ heart hurt.

If there was anyone he would truly miss – besides Noctis – from his own reality, it would be Gladio.

He had spent nearly a lifetime with the Shield. Ignis had been assigned to Noctis at the tender age of four and had met Gladio, officially, not long after that. It was true, they hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye in the beginning, but their cooperation was required if they wanted to best serve Noctis.

So they agreed to a friendship and the rest, as one would say, was history. 

Except Ignis suspected that it wasn’t history here. Because if it was, then why was he living in Altissia instead of an apartment down the block from Noctis’? Why was he here with _Weskham_ and _Ravus_ instead of in Insomnia with _Noctis _and _Gladio_?

Ignis felt out of his depth in a way that he did not appreciate.

This was not even considering the whole ‘Messenger’ thing. He could feel Ramuh just lurking around, invisible and intangible, but no less present like the pressure one usually felt before a storm. He resolved to ask the Astral questions once he was alone. 

Surely the Astral would give his Messenger some sort of explanation for all of this.

Ravus watched him stand in the middle of the living room with too sharp eyes, leaving Ignis feeling shredded and torn. There was an unspoken question there, and it bothered Ignis that he did not know Ravus well enough to guess it. It bothered Ignis more that the Ignis who had been here before would have.

“We probably shouldn’t leave you alone—” Weskham started.

“It’s fine.” Ignis didn’t normally feel the need to interrupt people. It was a terribly rude habit, one he sought to never have. Yet the idea of others staying with him in the house that was supposed to be his rankled him. 

He wanted to be alone right now. To think, to plan, to… mourn. 

…Yes. He wanted a moment to mourn. To mourn that he would never share his afterlife with Noctis, Gladio, or even Prompto. To mourn the King that had died only moments prior to him. To mourn the future that Ignis would never see. To mourn everything that had been taken from him, and everything that he would have to endure again.

“I’ll stay.” Ravus suggested, like Ignis had not just spoken. 

Weskham made a face. “I don’t think so, your highness. It may not be safe—”

“Be safe?” Ravus repeated, sitting up and glaring over the couch at the barkeep. “A Messenger of the Astrals would not dare hurt one who carries the Blood of the Oracle.” 

Ah. There was the haughty Ravus that Ignis knew. If only he was right.

Ignis thought of Princess Lunafreya, how she had seemed in her later days; and bit the side of his cheek to keep from commenting. Based on the sores, it was apparently a vice that Ignis shared with the one who had been here previously. 

Gladio would be disappointed if he could see him now. It had taken him years to break Ignis of the habit.

The look Weskham levied at Ravus spoke enough of his belief in Ravus’ words. “And what would you know? You thought you knew better when you convinced Ignis to go out on the town, and when you raised him with the prayers of the Astrals and unwittingly made him a Messenger.” 

Ignis winced and tore his gaze away from the two and instead centered his attention on one of the paintings on the wall. Metallic copper filled his mouth as he bit down hard enough on his cheek to bleed.

Ravus was uncharacteristically quiet in response. A fact that Weskham seemed to take as a victory. “Let’s give Ignis space today and tonight. We’ll visit what needs to be done tomorrow.”

“Nothing needs to be done.” There was a tone of what could have been frustration in Ravus’ voice. 

“He’s a Messenger!” Weskham announced, like it wasn’t some terrible fact that the three of them were painfully aware of. “ Specifically, the _Fulgurian’s_ in the _Hydraean’s_ territory! If he doesn’t learn to control the gifts granted by the Stormsender, we’ll have a lot worse to deal with than a hospital losing power for a few minutes.”

Privately, Ignis thought that he might side with Weskham. He was a danger to the city. The Fulgurian was first and foremost, the Stormsender; and while Altissia could weather storms, the city wasn’t entirely built for them. 

The rains alone could – and likely would – cause catastrophic flooding. Not to mention Ramuh’s favor over electricity. He simply blacked out a Hospital this time, but what about the next? What if he electrified the canals or actually caused someone’s death. Accident or not, it wasn’t something Ignis thought he could ever forgive.

“So what?” Ravus challenged. “You’ll send him back to Insomnia? There’s nothing for him there, Weskham. Nothing.”

…

Why was Ignis not surprised to find that this Ravus did not like Insomnia any more than the Ravus he had known?

Although, it was curious how he claimed that there was nothing for Ignis in Insomnia. Surely there was _something_. He had an uncle on the council, and…

…

No. He shouldn’t take that for granted. There was no telling if that was the case in this strangely similar world. After all, he was _living in Altissia_ instead of Insomnia. He was with _Ravus_ instead of _Noctis_. He was a _Messenger_ of the Astral Ramuh.

Things could not have been any more similarly different than they were.

He cleared his throat and turned back to the duo. “I would like some time alone to think.”

Ravus’ glare cut across Weskham to fall on him, but Ignis held his ground even as mismatched eyes were narrowed further. At some point during the exchange, Ravus had stood, and he huffed now before turning away and marching out the door. 

Weskham sighed.

It was a sigh that Ignis could certainly relate to. How many times had he heaved his own sighs so similar to Weskham’s when dealing with Noctis, Prompto, or on the rare occasion, Gladio? 

“I best be after him. Who knows what other mayhem he’ll cause.” The look Weskham gave him spoke that this might have been an inside joke of theirs. Ignis shuffled uneasily and Weskham’s face fell marginally. “I’ll check in on you in a few hours. Don’t die on us, now. I don’t fancy trying to explain to Regis the situation as it is already.” 

Ignis nodded mutely, and waited ten painstakingly long seconds after the door closed before heading up the stairs to change into something a little more comfortable. The stairs creaked as he ascended, and it hit him that he _should_ know which ones creaked.

He _should know_ because he _should_ have been the Ignis that lived here. Yet here he was. An imposture playing at himself.

He reached the upper landing and realized he didn’t even know which was his room and which was the guest’s. It was a situation easily remedied, but… the fact it was a situation at all was distressing.

He took a guess, and was thankful that it appeared to have been correct. If the pictures on the dressers and nightstand were anything to go by.

Most of the pictures were of Ignis and Ravus, showing that they both had been in Altissia since Ignis was at least a child of maybe eleven or twelve. The taste of bile coated Ignis’ mouth as he recalled Ravus’ argument of Ignis having nothing left in Insomnia.

Why had he come to Altissia so young? What about Noctis, or Gladio? There was ONE picture which showed them all at some terribly young age with gap-toothed smiles; but beyond that: nothing.

He let out a wordless cry as he fell backwards onto the bed, his hand raised to his mouth like it could contain the sound he had just made.

What was this life that he had been dropped into?

What was he expected to do, beyond serving the Astral? What did that even mean, to serve an Astral?

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, and then another and another. After a few seconds he opened them.

What were five things that he could see? He could see the photos, the pattern of the comforter on his bed, the grain of the laminate ‘wood’ flooring, and the window showing off a _stellar_ view of the townhomes across the canal.

What were four things he could feel or touch? He could touch the comforter (soft and slightly fuzzy), the picture frame on the nightstand (cold, hard, plastic), the laminate flooring (mostly smooth except the slight grit of some dirt), and the material of the clothes the hospital had given him (fake, synthetic cloth). 

Three things he could hear: the sounds of people outside the townhome walking around, the ticking of a clock that he knew would drive him crazy when he tried to sleep, the calls of the gondoliers in the canals.

He still needed two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste, but that would require him leaving the room. He didn’t feel ready for that. Yet he took another deep breath (it smelled like _him_ in the room), and forced himself to walk over to the dresser to pick out clothes to wear.

He needed… he needed to get himself together. To figure out what was going on, and how to survive in this reality.

For starters, he needed to jot down anything he could remember from his original reality before he could forget it. There would be no way for him to obtain information from that reality once he forgot it; and while it might not be relevant here, it was still valuable to him.

Then he could scour over the books downstairs. They had appeared upon first glance to be many of the same he had in Insomnia. Once he had his list, then he could start trying to chart out the differences between the realities.

Once that was done… then he could assess what to do after.

He made his way back down the stairs and hesitated for a second before heading to the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. If he was going to be doing paperwork, then he knew he would need it.

That finished, (he could add the smell of coffee to his list. Now he just needed one thing to taste), he took his cup to the kitchen table. A loose stack of paper already awaited him, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He took a sip of his coffee (and there was the last of his list), and started the long process of trying to write down as much history as he could possibly recall.

Of course, a couple hours later, he had quite a few sheets of paper. There were question marks scattered about them, from where Ignis had been unsure of the exact dates; and rings from the coffee where Ignis had accidently put the mug down on the papers. But, he felt confident enough in his timeline.

It was time now to move to the most tedious of the tasks. The easiest thing to check first would hopefully be in the rolled desk that he noticed earlier. He rummaged through it for a few minutes, relieved that ‘he’ had forgotten to lock it. 

“Ah-ha!” Ignis cheered to himself as he pulled out a small agenda. During his time in Insomnia, he had kept one just like it. A written summary of his current life – and Noctis’ – all tied up into one neat little book that he had almost always kept on his person and was replaced yearly.

In his life, it had been the lifeline to surviving palace life. The key to knowing when meetings were scheduled, what paperwork needed to be done, and other key details and events that Ignis needed to keep track of.

He turned to the last day that had not been folded over, and frowned. “752?” No. No, that didn’t make sense. Even if he hadn’t seen Gladio and Noctis since he was little, this was the year when he should have joined the Crownsguard.

He flipped back through pages, unfolding them randomly to look at the events.

Meetings with Weskham, shifts at Maagho, meetings with Ravus – some of them marked with stars for some bizarre reason, sit-ins with Weskham’s meetings with Camelia Claustra, his twentieth birthday on II – 7. 

…

“I was eighteen in 752.” If he was twenty now, then he was now older than Gladio. That was, of course, granted this Gladio wasn’t born earlier like he had. And what of Noctis? Was Noctis born earlier as well? Later? The same?

“How much is different?”

“It was a hope that you could tell me.” Ramuh’s voice echoed like thunder in the sky, even in Ignis’ small townhome. Ignis was very proud of the fact that he showed no external response beyond a small jolt and a slow turn.

Ramuh sat on his couch like it was an everyday normal occurrence. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his staff rested against the side table. The Astral blinked at Ignis in the picture of perfect innocence.

Ignis’ agenda slipped from his hands and fell on the floor. 

“Uh.” He said, intelligently.

Of course, he had seen Ramuh before. Noctis had summoned him more than once on their journey. He was the last Astral that Ignis had seen Noctis successfully form a convent with, unless one counted Leviathan. 

Ignis did not count her seeing as he never saw a successful summon, although he had certain heard and felt it. 

But even still, the few times that he had seen the Fulgurian, he had been… well, not small enough to fit inside Ignis’ small Livingroom. He certainly hadn’t looked as placid as he did now either. Ramuh titled his head in a way that reminded Ignis way too much of his grandfather before he passed. 

“I’m in a different reality.” Ignis said, perhaps stupidly, as his brain finally caught on to the confirmation in the Astral’s words. Ramuh smiled at him. Ignis could not decide if it was a kind smile or not. 

“As you have already discerned, yes.”

Ignis felt weak at the knees. He supposed he best get used to the feeling of talking with an Astral. Considering he was a Messenger now. Right. It was time to steel himself, and ask the important questions. Starting with... “Why aren’t I with Noctis?”

Ramuh blinked at him again, and once more tilted his head – this time in the opposite direction. “The King of Kings?”

Ignis did not fidget no matter how much he wanted to. Since when was he this filled with energy? “Yes. I should be adviser to Prince Noctis right now.”

“Ah,” Said the Astral like that explained everything. “That is a fascinating difference.” 

Since the Astral had failed to answer Ignis’ question, he moved on to another. Well, technically, it was the same just asked in a different way.

Ignis felt like no part of this experience was ‘fascinating’. “Why am I in Altissia?”

“I would have preferred you in Insomnia.” Ramuh commented. Ignis got the déjà vu feeling of having to deal with similar ‘circle’ conversations with various Lords and Ladies of Insomnia. A very large part of him wanted to scream. 

He wanted answers, not riddles or circling conversations, or tests or questions. It felt like his frustration was pouring out of a leaky faucet, unable to be turned off; and he was a bottle that was getting fuller and fuller. 

“You would have been given to me without any preamble if it wasn’t for your location.” Ramuh continued. 

Ah, yes. Ignis recalled that it was the fact he was in Altissia that had upset Leviathan. “How is the Hydraean’s Bonded?”

Ignis still could not tell if Ramuh’s smile was kind or not. Silence was apparently the Astral’s response to that particular question.

“What is going on?!” Electricity arched through the air, and Ignis realized a second too late what he had been done. 

Quick as a flash of lightning, Ramuh was off the couch and standing in the middle of the room, the lightning from Ignis caught between his hands, bouncing around like a captured cactuar. Ramuh’s smile, Ignis decided, was distinctly unkind. 

“Ifrit would have let your house and any others burn.” Ramuh’s words were a rumble of an approaching storm. “Leviathan would have laughed as you drowned. Bahamut would not have lifted a claw to even acknowledge your existence.” The Astral closed his hands around the lightning and with a quiet sizzle, extinguished it.

“You.” Ramuh pointed a finger at him. “Are a tactician, an advisor, and now a Messenger. You have the means to find the answers that which you seek.”

Ignis swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very, very, very small. Ignis understood quite well: Ramuh was _not_ a source of those answers. Except, perhaps, maybe one. Yet Ignis did not dare ask it. Not right now, in any case. 

The why and how of him coming here was probably not an answer Ramuh wanted to give.

Ignis took a deep shuddering breath, held it for a second and then released. “Books.” He decided. The books he kept focused primarily on Lucis. Specifically, the Royal family, history, and laws. All he needed to do was find the differences.

Ramuh’s smile might have been considered kind before he vanished between one blink and another. Ignis decided that he hated being a Messenger, and held newfound respect for Princess Lunafreya for having to deal with the Astrals and their melodramatics.

Ignis sighed, and picked up his coffee cup on his way back into the kitchen. It was time to start a new pot.

He hesitated once in the kitchen and his stomach let out a low growl. He exhaled sharply and put the mug on the counter before taking stock of his kitchen’s inventory. It would appear that he would need to go grocery shopping soon, but in the meantime, he had the ingredients to make a decent Chickatrice noodle soup.

Before he started, he turned on the television and raised the volume enough to hear it as he cooked. It thankfully came on to a news channel, and Ignis hummed to himself as he listened to the news anchors talking about some tax cuts that First Secretary Camelia Claustra was proposing. 

It cut a few minutes later to a segment on some festival planned later this month. Ignis imagined that Prompto would have likely enjoyed it; it sounded to be about Chocobos.

It hit Ignis, not for the first time, that with the exception of the mystery one – or two – other people that might have come over from his reality, that he was alone. Gladio, Prompto, Noctis… they were gone. Sure, they were likely versions of them here – if Noctis had survived the attack – but, they weren’t the ones that he _knew_. 

“Hello?” Ignis thanked the Six at Weskham’s interruption before he could spiral like he had upstairs.

“In the kitchen.” Ignis replied, although he doubted it was strictly needed. One would be able to painfully tell that he wasn’t in the living room and all one needed to do was breath to smell the soup bubbling away on the stove.

Ignis took out a spoon and sampled some. It was still missing something. He considered the soup and then the line of herbs he had picked out. Maybe some powdered aegir root or wild onion? 

“Since when did you cook?” 

Ignis’ movements stilled as Weskham’s question hit him and he blinked down at the ingredients. Since when did he cook? He had always cooked. He took an interest in it after Noctis told him about the tarts he had in Tenebrae in 744.

…

He looked to be eleven or twelve in the photo with Ravus in Altissia. What if… what if Noctis never went to Tenebrae? He wouldn’t have told Ignis about the dessert, and Ignis wouldn’t have learned cooking and baking in order to recreate it. 

But why hadn’t Noctis gone? Was he not attacked here? Or was it that Noctis had gone, but hadn’t told him about the dessert?

Either way, Ignis never took an interest in cooking. He put down the container of powdered aegir root. 

You’ve been holding out on me, kid.” Weskham said, suddenly beside Ignis and trying some of the soup with a different spoon. He licked his lips and hummed. “You’re right. Needs some aegir root.”

“I don’t know where I learned to cook.” The lie spilled easily – too easily – from his lips. 

“It’s not uncommon for people who have a near death experience to come back with some skill they didn’t have before.” Weskham explained as he gently nudged Ignis away from the stove. Ignis wanted to laugh and scream at the same time.

He doubted other near death experience patients were transplanted from an alternative reality where they learned how to cook to make a childhood sweet of the prince they served who was likely dead in the new reality.

“I’ll take over here. Maybe you should go take a seat.” 

“I’m fine.” Ignis shook his head. He was _not_ fine. He would _not_ be fine until he knew the answers to his questions. Said questions were on the tip of his tongue, threatening to slip out and expose himself to Weskham. 

Was Noctis alive? Why was he in Altissia? Why was Ravus in Altissia? Why was he here, in this reality? He clamped down on them, biting on his tongue to physically keep himself from asking.

Weskham let out a disbelieving noise. 

Ignis took a deep breath in through his nose and released it out of his mouth. “How long will you be staying?” He asked instead of the multitude of other questions.

Weskham frowned at him. “I’m just checking in on you. I was going to ask if you were hungry, but it seems you have that covered already.”

“Quite.” Ignis nodded. “I’m still adjusting, that’s all.”

“To being a Messenger?”

“Will you be staying for soup?” Ignis maneuvered around him to return back to the stove. He added a sprinkle of the powdered aegir root and stirred the soup.

He couldn’t see Weskham, but he could hear him as he shifted and moved. “I think… that would be a splendid idea.” 

“Splendid.” Simply splendid. Exactly what he wanted and needed: a distraction to his research. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” Weskham asked, and Ignis nearly dropped the spoon. His brain immediately jumped to everything else before he realized that it was far more likely for the former advisor to be talking about being a Messenger.

“Not particularly.”

“We will need to.”

Ignis knew that. He was a Messenger to Ramuh in Leviathan’s city. It was a big deal. “Will I be sent back to Insomnia?” He asked after a long moment of hesitation. 

“It is most likely. Especially as you were injured, and you were sent here to study under me by Regis.” Weskham sighed. “Camelia’s not too pleased about the situation.”

“Does she know?”

“About you being a Messenger? Six, no. She’d have you booted out of the city faster than you can say ‘chocobo’. She doesn’t need the heat from the Empire. Not while she’s hosting Ravus under their noses.”

Ah. So Ravus was not _supposed_ to be here. Ignis supposed that answered why Ravus had seemed so young in the photos. But it didn’t answer why Ravus was in Altissia instead of Tenebrae or Niflheim. 

Ignis nodded and didn’t release so much as a sigh as just a breath. “So I will return to Insomnia.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On one hand, if he returned to Insomnia, then he could see for himself what Noctis’ fate was. On the other hand… he didn’t know what to do with himself, even if he stayed in Altissia.

All his life he had a duty: serving as Noctis’ advisor. That had taken on many forms in his other life, but in the end it all boiled down to being the same. Here… what was he to do? If there was no Noctis to support, then who would be the one to end the scourge?

Was the scourge not something that this world needed to worry about, despite the daemon attacks? Or was it that Noctis just simply wasn’t meant to be King of Kings here? 

Too many questions.

“You will stay here.” Ignis couldn’t help but to jump at Ramuh’s voice as it thundered through the house. A quick glance at Weskham showed that the man had no response except to narrow his eyes at Ignis and take a step closer.

“Are you alright?”

“Why?” Ignis ignored Weskham. He assumed the offense the Astral would take if ignored would be far more dangerous than Weskham’s.

“It is not your place to question. Only to deliver the message that is asked of you.” 

“…Right.” Ignis frowned. This was _not_ what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He wanted to serve Noctis, not be a mouthpiece for an Astral. He found it hard to believe that he had been stolen from an afterlife with his King to be a mouthpiece for an Astral in some weird alternative reality.

“Ignis?”

“Ramuh wants me to stay in Altissia.” Ignis returned to his pot of soup and tried to pretend that he couldn’t feel Weskham’s heavy gaze on him. 

Silence reigned in the house for a good long couple of minutes before Weskham cleared his throat. “I take it the Stormsender did not deign to share why?”

“I was told that it wasn’t my place to question why, only deliver the message.” 

“…I see.” Weskham cleared his throat. “That… throws a kink in the plan for you to return to Insomnia.”

“Just a bit.” Ignis headed to the cabinet that had the bowls he had found earlier and grabbed two. “I don’t fancy finding out Ramuh’s response should we deny or ignore him.”

“Neither do I. So I guess you stay.”

“So it would appear.”

The conversation dissolved into silence. Ignis cleared off the table, taking care to hide his timeline behind blank papers before getting Weskham out a bowl and filling it. 

“It looks like you’ve been working on a project.” Weskham commented, eyeing the stack of papers. 

Ignis, for what was probably the first time in his life, shrugged. “Just trying to piece everything together.”

“Everything?” Weskham raised an eyebrow. He accepted his bowl and took a seat at the table. Ignis could tell he was itching to go through the stack, but had the restraint not to. He made a mental note to ensure those notes were thoroughly secured if not with him.

“Everything.” Ignis confirmed, and took a sip of his soup. 

The conversation fell silent again; and although Ignis knew the soup tasted fantastic from the way Weskham devoured it, it tasted like bitter tar in Ignis’ mouth.

~

It had been fortunate that Ignis’ decision to break had corresponded with Weskham’s visit. As far as he knew, that was the only one planned. So he shouldn’t be interrupted again until the morning.

If he wished to keep up appearances as this reality’s Ignis, then it would be prudent for him to be as familiar with this reality’s history as his own. 

Thankfully, the first major difference was abundantly apparent from the moment he opened a book. Apparently there existed an entity known simply as ‘The King’s Uncle’, or during the time in which a queen ruled, ‘The _Queen’s_ Uncle’. Ignis only needed to see one photo to recognize said entity as the Chancellor of Niflheim and Personification of the Star Scourge, Ardyn.

Unlike his reality, however, Ardyn was not – and had never been so far as Ignis could tell – the Chancellor of Niflheim or Lucis’ enemy. Instead, he served as an ‘advisor’ to the ruling monarch of Lucis whenever he wasn’t pulling a disappearing act that lasted generations at a time. 

According to the book – and several others that Ignis cross checked – Ardyn had been last seen at the side of King Regis, appearing a scant day after King Regis’ coronation after three generations of being missing.

Ignis suspected that whatever caused the change in the Chancellor’s black heart was likely responsible for the ripple of other changes that he noticed in his skimming of the books. Like how the Wall was NOT pulled back to Insomnia in 725, and so far as the books knew, had _still_ not been pulled back.

While the news program on the television didn’t display much other than Imperial propaganda and local Altissian/Accordian news, nothing on there seemed to indicate the Wall having been pulled back either. 

Which was a Huge Difference – possibly as huge as the change of Ardyn’s heart. Ignis was loath to admit it, but there was very little chance that the Wall remaining wasn’t due to _this_ Ardyn’s presence on the Lucian side. Ardyn hadn’t been advising the ruling monarch – Regis’ father, Mors – but it just made _sense_ that he was related somehow.

Ardyn had the King’s magic even when he sided with Niflheim. It was not too far of a stretch to believe that Ardyn could have either a) helped cause the wall’s need to be pulled back in Ignis’ reality or b) helped strength the wall in this reality to prevent it from needing to be pulled back.

In any case, the result was that the wall was not pulled back, and thus, Galahd and a lot of the other Lucian territory remained under the Lucian flag and protection.

Which of course led to a tangent of thought about what affects having those territories under the wall had on the relationships between said territories and Insomnia. He knew in his own reality, the relationship had deteriorated steadily since the removal of the wall until it reached the powdered keg of trouble that lead to treason and betrayal.

Tensions had been high between the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard. Heck, tensions had been high between the Kingsglaive and the Insomnians. 

But here, things were hopefully different. Insomnia’s citizens wouldn’t have need to be so weary of ‘immigrants’ from beyond the wall – never mind that Lucian citizens shouldn’t be considered immigrants simply for existing beyond the wall – if they were _all_ under the wall.

That was a query that neither books nor news programs would likely be able to answer. He wouldn’t know until he returned to Insomnia… whenever that may be. He had no idea why Ramuh was insistent on him staying in Altissia, or even for how long he was expected to stay. 

The only real blip of Empire activity on Lucian soil was the successful break in the wall and attack on the Royal Family in 744 which corresponded perfectly with the attack on Noctis in his reality. It seemed this reality’s Noctis was not as lucky to be healed by the Queen of Tenebrae, as there was no mention of it in the book.

Then again, there was no mention of it in Ignis’ original book either. The only reason he had known of it was because of his position as Noctis’ future advisor, and because of his friendship with Gladio. The whole visit had been kept secret specifically to avoid what ended up happening.

So Ignis was not surprised by the lack of information about the visit. It was the lack of information _after_ the visit should have occurred, however, that was worrisome. 

Especially since he now knew that the attack had indeed occurred as it had in his reality. 

But of course, this didn’t make sense because if the attack happened, then Noctis should have gone to Tenebrae to be healed. The healing would be successful <strike>unless it wasn’t here</strike> and then Noctis would return to tell Ignis about the dessert.

But this Ignis didn’t know how to cook. Which meant…

Which meant something Ignis was not sure he was prepared to theorize. Because if Noctis had been attacked, but Ignis had not been informed about the treat and had instead been sent to Altissia, then well…

Ravus claimed that there was nothing left for Ignis in Insomnia.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There were only so many theories he could think of. He could at least be assured of Noctis’ continued life as the death of the prince would have surely been in the books.

Yet that thought did little to comfort him.

Had the healing not taken as it had in his reality? If so, why? Was Ardyn the cause of that? And also the cause of the Wall breaking to allow Niflheim troops through? Was it possible that Noctis had not gone to Tenebrae at all? Was Ardyn the cause of that change too?

Ignis sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching until he heard his joints pop before getting up and renewing his cup of coffee. Were Gladio here, he would have taken the coffee mix away by now. 

He groaned as he resumed his seat and reviewed over some of the other changes that he had noticed. Perhaps the key to understanding what had happened to Noctis was hidden in other changes. 

Shiva’s awakening in 720 as opposed to 745 likely wasn’t related. In his reality, Niflheim had invaded in 725 due to the Wall being pulled back. That hadn’t happened here. 

…

Maybe the cause of what happened to Noctis for him not to be healed wasn’t with _Lucian_ history but _Tenebraen_ history. After all Ravus had been in Altissia from at least 744. Why was Ravus here?

Also, it had only been spoken of once, but Ignis was sure he had heard something that implied that Queen Sylva was alive still. Which would imply that the 744 meeting between her and the Lucian Royalty hadn’t occurred.

In his reality, Noctis visited in 744 after being attacked. Niflheim found out about the visit, killed Queen Sylva, annexed Tenebrae, and took Prince Ravus into their military service. Here, it was becoming clear that Noctis had not visited after the attack.

So then… what had caused Queen Sylva to send Ravus to Altissia? Why had Noctis not gone and visited her?

He didn’t have any books on Tenebraen history, and those that mentioned it did not go into much detail. He would need to either a) find other literature on this matter or b) go straight to the source.

Going to the source – Ravus – was a faster option, however, it also a risky option. It was unlikely that he would be able to gather the information needed without first revealing that he was from another reality – or at least had the mind and memories from another reality. 

He would need to wait to go to the bookstore or library. If Ravus or Weskham did decide to drop by to check in on him, the last thing he needed was them finding his home empty.

The only other place he could think to find information was from Ramuh, but he doubted the Astral would answer him. Since his brief visit to insist Ignis stay in Altissia, the Astral had felt… distant, for lack of better term.

The magic was still there, nestled in the spot that should have housed Noctis’. He had no doubt that he could pull upon it should he need to. Speaking of that magic… he should probably try to work with it so that he didn’t have another incident like with what happened at the hospital or while alone with Ramuh. 

He would finish up with some of his research, take another break for left over soup, and then work on some meditation before bed. Then in the morning, he could see about going to the library or a bookstore.

Of course, a few hours later, Ignis found that sleep was not something easily found as he had assumed.

The bed, he quickly decided, was the problem. During the decade of darkness, he had mostly slept on either the ground or a cot. And then, of course, leading up to the decade, he had lived on the road; which meant a lot of hotels and camping. 

He refused to acknowledge that it might not have been the bed that was the problem so much as being _alone_. Staying in Lestallum during the Long Night had often meant sharing a cot in a room full of people. It was easier that way.

There was safety in numbers, after all.

That wasn’t to say that he had not slept in a bed at all during the Long Night. But those times had been far and few in between. And sleep had been easy to come then. Perpetual tiredness was expected when one had to battle nearly ever moment of their life just to live.

<strike>Of course, it had always helped to have Gladio at his back. The Shield’s arm warm and secure around Ignis’ waist; his breath on the nape of Ignis’ neck. </strike>

There was also a certain lack of noise. Within Lestallum’s walls, it was never quiet. The lack of sunlight had made time obsolete in a way. People worked around the clock a) to insure the safety of the city and b) to cull the daemons.

When out and about, one could always hear the daemons. The shrieking giggles of imps and goblins, the groaning metal of the Giants, and so much more. 

Here, yes, there was some noise from outside, but compared to what Ignis had grown used it… it was quiet. Quiet in a way that Ignis had long learned meant _danger_, because daemons were only ever quiet if they were trying to lure one into a trap.

Needless to say, Ignis had a long and tiresome night. 

He dragged himself downstairs when his alarm went off at 5, and attempted to drown his tiredness in a cup <strike>or three</strike> of coffee. 

Ravus was, perhaps unsurprisingly, his first visitor of the day. He did not visit through the front door, as one would expect, but instead knocked on the back door leading out to the balcony that hung over the canal.

Ignis stared at him blankly from his spot at the kitchen table. 

It seemed Ravus took that as an invite for the door opened not even a moment later and the prince stepped inside. 

“I’d ask how you slept last night, but it hardly looks as if you got any.” Was Ravus’ morning greeting. Ignis grunted into his coffee. “Lucky for you then that Weskham has seen fit to assign your shift at Maagho today to me.”

…

Prince Ravus worked at Weskham’s bar/restaurant. That was… that was probably one of the most surprising things that Ignis had learned about this reality. It was less surprising that Ignis himself worked there as well.

Ignis blinked at him and took a long sip of his coffee. 

“How many does that make?” Ravus asked, eyeing the coffee. “Have you even _had_ breakfast yet?” He paused. “What am I asking, of course you haven’t. You couldn’t boil water without setting it aflame first.”

Okay. That was worth giving energy to respond to. “Weskham quite enjoyed my soup last night.”

Ravus blinked, clearly “You made soup?” He repeated, before adding on, “and you didn’t poison him?”

Ignis would have been more offended – not to say that he wasn’t, because he was – if it wasn’t for the fact that the Ignis of this reality did not cook. It _was_ in fact a surprise to Ravus that Ignis could successfully cook something.

“I still have some left over if you would like.” 

“No offense, but I’ll take my free meal at Maagho.” Whelp, Ignis could hardly blame him there. Maagho’s food was quite good. Ignis had tried to replicate it a few times with mixed results. The closest success had been Lasagna al Forno (known as Maagho Lasagna at the restaurant). 

“None taken. Maagho’s food is some of the finest around here.” 

“Exactly.” Ravus tapped the table. “It’s both a blessing and a curse they don’t serve breakfast. Speaking of, I was thinking we could grab some before Weskham sends me off to work and absconds with you to speak of your Messenger status.” 

It was somewhat endearing how Ravus was trying to pretend that Ignis’ status as a Messenger didn’t bother him. 

Ignis sighed into his coffee and thought for a moment of turning down Ravus’ suggestion. It was just a thought, however, as the majority of the kitchen’s stock was empty. He tapped his fingers against the porcelain of the mug. 

“I would be amendable to this plan, so long as we may stop by a few stores on our way back. I would like to make a trip to both grocer and a bookstore.”

Ravus raised an eyebrow. “One success with soup and suddenly he thinks himself a chef.” He scoffed.

“Actually.” Ignis began. “Weskham was of the opinion that it was a blessing from surviving my near death experience. He said it’s not uncommon for patients to come back proficient with skills they lacked before.”

“Is that so?” Ravus asked.

“I’ll pardon your suspension of belief, if only because I know you’ll come to appreciate my newfound skill.”

“How will I? Weskham will be sending you to Insomnia.” Ravus waved his hand in the air as if batting away an annoying fly. 

“I suppose he hasn't had the chance to inform you yet, but Ramuh has decreed that I am to stay in Altissia.” Ignis took another measured sip from his coffee to allow Ravus time to process the information.

“Why would _Ramuh_ wish for you to stay _here_?” Ravus’ eyebrows were pinched together in a way that tempted Ignis to tease that his face would stay that way if he kept making the face. It was certainly easier to talk to this Ravus than the one he knew.

But then again, the Ravus he knew watched his mother be slaughter before his eyes and been forced into the Niflheim military. It was only natural that this Ravus – who appeared to have grown up with Weskham – would be more at ease.

It was similar to how easy Noctis was to speak to due to his attending public school and living outside the citadel among the citizens.

“I could not say.” Ignis replied.

Ravus’ expression shifted to one Noctis would often make anytime he ate some of those sour candies Prompto tended to carry around. “Well, that’s…” He paused. “It’s good you’re staying here.”

That was probably as close to a ‘I would have missed you’ as Ignis would get. He’d take it. “Right then.” Ignis put down his finished coffee. He could always get more at wherever Ravus took him for breakfast.

At least, he hoped that Ravus would be the one to show him the way. Ignis wasn’t entirely familiar with this part of Altissia as the sections he had explored with Noctis was only a small part of the city. 

“We best be off if we still want to have breakfast.” Especially if Ignis wanted to do some shopping and he didn’t know when Ravus’ shift at Maagho started.

“Indeed.”

~

Weskham had quite the operation at Maagho. It was more impressive than Ignis had originally thought. The restaurant itself was already impressive, but the fact that it was just a _cover_, was far more.

Oh, of course it was an actual restaurant. An accomplished one at that, and it _needed_ to be for it to do its primary purpose of information gathering. It was amazing what all people would talk about while thinking their words were lost and safe within the noise and chatter of the restaurant.

It was amazing how many people overlooked the waitstaff. It was as if they forgot the waitstaff were human and had ears with which to listen. It was as if they just assumed the waitstaff to be automations which took their order and delivered it and did nothing else.

Ignis could suddenly understand why exactly Weskham chose to set up a restaurant when he decided to stay in Altissia. Within one week of working there, Ignis had the insider knowledge of at least three legal company mergers and two illegal ones. 

Within a month, He knew who was against Camelia’s newest tax cut plan and why. He found companies that profited from the war, and some that even went as far as to try to poke the sleeping giants to get more profits. 

He heard news from people visiting from Tenebrae, Niflheim or on the rarest of occasions, Lucis. He even heard military plans whenever someone from the Niflheim military stopped in. 

It was honestly unreal how much of a jackpot of information the restaurant was. He was a bit upset to have not noticed or thought of it before.

It went without saying that part of Ignis’ job was, naturally, to gather this information and report it to Weskham. Of course, the other part of his job was actually waitstaff. A position he shared with Ravus. Normally they alternated shifts, but during the busiest days – Fridays and Saturdays – they both worked the dinner rush.

Ignis passed by Ravus on his way to Weskham’s office. Secretary Sidon Dorephan at table 10 wanted to speak to the owner, and it was near impossible to tell if the lord wanted to make a compliment, complaint, or just to chat with Weskham. 

Ignis reached out and grabbed him. “Arista on table 8 wants to be waited by you.” 

Ignis still didn’t know most of the customer’s names like Ravus did, but he was quick to learn them. He had to be if he wanted to not raise suspicions. Thankfully, it seemed like a lot of patrons were regulars like Sidon and Arista.

“Again?” Ravus furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s the fourth time this week. Where is she getting the money to come here?”

“Her father most likely. He’s the CEO of FM&A Pickled Olives.” Ignis paused. “I believe she may have a crush on you.”

“She’s sixteen.” Ravus replied, his tone flat. 

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “So? It was never said you had to reciprocate.” 

“Ugh.” Ravus pulled away from Ignis and continued down the hall. 

Ignis watched him go for a second before continuing on himself. Sidon tended to get antsy when left waiting. And if Ravus was going to be waiting on table 8, Sidon would not hesitate to grab him if he thought Ignis was taking too long.

“I can’t return to Lucis, Clarus. Not yet. Not now.” Ignis paused by the door to the office of Maagho, his previous task of informing Weskham of Sidon’s request all but fleeing from his mind as Weskham’s muffled voice drifted through the cracked door. 

“Yes, yes. I heard you, but it sounds as if you have a perfectly capable replacement for the Captain of the Kingsglaive—” Weskham made a noise as he was apparently cut off. Ignis frowned. A replacement for the Captain? If it was the same captain from his reality, he couldn’t understand why.

The only thing that Ignis could think of was that the corruption in the Kingsglaive had reached the Captain, but no. It couldn’t be. It would have been noticed sooner if it reached that high. Besides, there was no proof that there was any traitors in the Kingsglaive of this reality.

Not for the first time, Ignis cursed that Libertus had never shared the identity of any of the traitor glaives. Electricity buzzed under his skin at the thought of the traitors, and Ignis had to take a deep breath to clear his mind and keep it from manifesting.

“Does Regis trust him? Then he’s fine, Clar- wait. Weird in what way? Have you spoken to Regis about this? Of course you haven’t. Have you spoken to Cor? What do you mean Cor’s opinion doesn’t count!?”

Ignis related to the amount of incredibility in Weskham’s tone. Marshal Cor, the Immortal, Leonis was one of the most soundly logical men that Ignis ever knew. He was one of the few people that he, Gladio, Prompto, and even Noctis, all respected and held in high regard.

What kind of situation involving the Kingsglaive would make Cor’s opinion not count?

“Look. I cannot with you right now, Clarus. Speak with Cor or Cid, or Six, speak with Regis himself! If this behavior is worrying you, it’s your job to check it out. I have my own situation here in Altissia I’m trying to circumnavigate.”

Ah, that would be Ignis. Weskham still had yet to tell Camelia about Ignis’ status as the Messenger of the Fulgurian as he was under the belief that she would have him tossed from the city out of fear of angering the Hydraean. A fair concern, as Leviathan had threatened as much in the beginning.

He wondered, sometimes, what the Astral was doing, and who she had chosen as her Bonded. He hoped they were having a better go at it than him. 

“If you must know, some girl is claiming to be Tenebrae’s lost princess.”

That was news to Ignis.

But, if it was true… then it was very, very good news to Ignis.

In his studying of the Tenebraen history books, he had come to the conclusion that his theory of them holding answers had been correct. Unfortunately, as with many things in this reality, the more answers he received, the more questions he had.

According to multiple books, Tenebrae was annexed not in 744, but in 735. 

Which had answered the question about why Noctis had not visited very nicely. It did not, however, answer the question of why King Regis had sent Ignis to Altissia. 

The only thing that Ignis could assume was that Noctis was unavailable for whatever reason. But why? 

He feared he wouldn’t like the answer to the question. Yet surely Noctis was still alive. If he was dead, it would be written down in the books – an excuse he had told himself multiple times now. If Noctis was dead, then King Regis wouldn’t have sent Ignis to Altissia to study under Weskham. If he was dead…

Then Ignis didn’t know what to do anymore. His entire life he had dedicated it to Noctis. Even the only thing that he could really claim to have taken for himself was related in some part to Noctis. 

In any case, all mention of Ravus abruptly stopped in 736, so Ignis assumed that was when the prince had been sent to Altissia. Likely for his own protection.

Ignis theorized that Ravus had been threatened by the Empire before. Like in 725 when the Lucian-Accordian alliance failed. In his reality, it failed due to the invasion of Niflheim into Lucis. In this reality, there was no listed reason. 

But Ravus had been born not in 728, but in 725. The same year the treaty failed. It was too much of a coincidence for Ignis to ignore. 

There was no mention in the books of when the princess was handed over to Niflheim, but her last known location had been in Gralea. Ignis had been spending many sleepless nights trying to think of a way to rescue her.

While Queen Sylva was alive, it had been reported – even in Altissian newspapers and programs – about her failing health which forced her to remain in Fenestella manor instead of touring the countryside.

Should the queen’s health continue to decline, there would be none other to take up the mantle of Oracle besides Lunafreya. And the Oracle was paramount to the people’s survival of the Star Scourge.

She could not be left in Imperial custody. 

Once she was out, she would need to undergo her training. It shouldn’t be difficult for her, considering in his reality she had been made the youngest Oracle ever.

He had been at a loss at how to help her while stuck in Altissia with Ravus and Weskham… but perhaps this news was the reason that he was stuck in Altissia to begin with.

He had been doing some in depth reading of Cosmogony, and found that Messengers were not just voice puppets of the Astrals. They were also used to act in an Astrals place when the Astral themselves could not. 

It was for that reason that they had been involved in the War of the Astrals to begin with. Perhaps the reason Ramuh needed him in Altissia was to help the princess.

“It’s been a nightmare trying to find her before Prince Ravus hears of it. It doesn’t help that the rumors are being kept very quiet. I don’t think Camelia has even heard of them. No! I don’t think she really is. How would she have escaped Niflheim?”

“Ignis?” Ravus’ voice had Ignis jumping. He spun around to look at the prince with wide eyes. “Sidon said he’s been waiting for a while for you to get…” He trailed off and gave Ignis a hard look. “Were you eavesdropping on Weskham?!”

Ignis shushed him immediately and listened for any sign Weskham heard them. “I don’t know, Clarus.” It seemed he had not.

He made motions with his hands for Ravus to move and only once they were a decent amount away from Weskham’s office did he speak. “Weskham’s not currently available. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

Weskham didn’t want Ravus to know about this girl who claimed to be Lunafreya, but… she was Ravus’ sister, and Ignis would not be able to find her own his own. Not if even Weskham was having difficulty. 

Ravus opened his mouth for a second and then closed it. After a moment, he said, “You’ll explain eavesdropping on Weskham?” Ignis nodded. “Fine. But you’re telling Secretary Dorephan about Weskham.”

“Naturally.” Ignis inclined his head. He started off towards the dining area and paused when Ravus didn’t follow. He looked back at the prince to see him looking down the hallway to Weskham’s office. “Ravus. I will tell you what I heard later; I promise.”

Ravus nodded, and after another moment of hesitation, followed after Ignis. Ignis mentally sighed. This shift was going to be a long one. 

As per usual, Ignis’ suspicion was a correct one. All night long, Ravus kept glancing at Ignis. It was almost enough to make him want to ask to be transferred to the market side bar that he had visited with Noctis and the others. Ravus hated it down there, and wouldn’t likely follow.

Ignis didn’t. Instead he politely informed the Secretary that Weskham had stepped out and was unavailable. Sidon had been unhappy about it, but it turned out that he didn’t need Weskham for any particular reason at all.

A lucky break for Ignis, it seemed.

In any case, by the time the shift had ended, Ignis was dead tired, and just wanted to go home and either a) curl up on the couch with another history book or b) just go to bed.

Neither options were available if only because he knew the moment he got home, he’d have about ten minutes before Ravus jumped the gap between their balconies and bothered Ignis about what he had overheard.

That in mind, Ignis opened the balcony door and started to make a cup of coffee as soon as he got home. Ten minutes later, on the dot, Ravus knocked on the door. Ignis didn’t bother to look up before saying, “Come in”. 

“Give me a good reason I shouldn’t tell Weskham you were listening in on him.” Impatience was apparently something inherent in Ravus if it manifested in him in both realities. Aggression too, although this Ravus’ was curbed some by living with Weskham instead of the military.

Ignis leaned against the abysmal excuse for a breakfast bar between the dining area and the kitchen, and tapped his fingers on the mug. “I wasn’t intending to listen, just waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. He was talking to Lord Amicitia.”

Ravus’ eyebrows knitted together. “The King’s Shield? Whatever for?”

“Apparently the Kingsglaive needs a new captain, and he had concerns about the most likely replacement.”

Ravus snorted, and although he did not say it, Ignis could hear the snide ‘is that all?’. “If the Shield has concerns on that person, then they should not be the replacement.” Ravus waved his hand in the air in a dismissive move. “End of story, why was Weskham involved?”

“Because Lord Amicitia wanted him to return to Insomnia.”

That had Ravus pausing. Ignis continued to tap his fingers on the mug, and began to chew on his cheek in the silence. Within one breath and the next, he could feel the hairs on his body stand as an electrified current ran through the air. 

Ramuh was watching this interaction. Ignis was not sure how he felt about that.

“To visit?”

“It’s not clear. I only heard Weskham’s half of the conversation, and only a small part of it.” Ignis took a sip of his drink. “Weskham declined him. Said he had more pressing matters here.”

“Like you.”

The electric pressure seemed to bear down on Ignis, and although he could not claim to know for sure what the Astral thought, he assumed Ramuh was interested in which choice Ignis would make. He could agree with Ravus. He could say that Ignis was the reason Weskham gave for not being able to leave.

He could lie and then try to find Lunafreya on his own in a city he only barely knew. After all, there had to be some reason that Weskham had not told Ravus about these rumors; that Weskham was trying to keep these rumors from Ravus.

Or he could stick to his plan to tell Ravus. 

The prince deserved to know about the possibility of his sister being here. And if anyone had any idea where she could be, it would likely be Ravus. He already knew that Ravus used his Balcony to escape out into the city at night with Weskham’s knowing. 

He had caught the prince coming back at some horrid hour of the morning. Ignis hadn’t been able to sleep, and Ravus had snuck along the side of the building to climb up onto Ignis’ balcony, startling the both of them. Ignis claimed to be awake due to a bad dream, and Ravus admitted that he had been out for most of the night.

Then Ravus had hopped up on the balcony railing – giving Ignis a heart attack – and lit up a cigarette before asking if Ignis wanted to talk about his bad dream.

The whole interaction had felt surreal and Ignis would have believed it for a dream if he hadn’t later found ash on the floor of his balcony between the railing and the edge where Ravus put out his cigarette.

Ignis exhaled sharply, and he could swear he could hear the rumbling whisper of Ramuh telling him to make his choice. “No.” 

The electricity abated; the pressure lifted. He made his choice, and Ramuh turned his gaze elsewhere. Ignis wondered if he had made the right choice.

“No?” Ravus echoed. “Is something else going on?”

“Maybe. Weskham told Clarus of some rumors he heard… about your sister.”

Ravus’ entire body tensed. “Lunafreya?” His voice was quiet, firm, and carried more than a little hurt hidden underneath. “What about her?”

Perhaps it would have been better had Ignis _not_ said anything. He wondered that while eyeing the way Ravus’ hand clenched and unclenched repeatedly. The prince was still tense, his whole body practically quivering with how uptight he was.

“Apparently she’s in the city. Or at least, someone claiming to be her is. Weskham didn’t want you to know.”

The sound that escaped from Ravus was akin to a snarl. One Ignis had heard plenty of while fighting along side and against Ravus. 

“I was planning on looking for her.” Ignis said when Ravus did not make any other response. 

“No need.” Ravus replied, his tone sharp and hard, and still carrying too much hurt. “I’ll find her myself.” Ignis’ ‘danger’ senses were going haywire and he put down his mug. 

“Hold on. I want to help.”

“You’ve helped enough giving me this information. I’ll find this imposture myself.”

“What if she’s not?” Ignis asked. “What if she is—”

“Is my sister? Not likely, Ignis. Use your head. She was taken at three. THREE! Do you know what the empire does to children that young? Do you know what they could have been doing to her? The last time she was seen was _months_ ago. MONTHS. _My sister is Dead_. She’s been dead since they took her!”

Part of Ignis’ gobbled up the information greedily, twisting it into facts for easier consumption. Lunafreya was taken by the Empire at age three. That meant either late 734 or early 735. 735… the year Noctis was born and the year that the Empire annexed Tenebrae.

In his reality, Tenebrae lost a queen when they were annexed. In this reality, they lost a princess. Ignis felt sick. 

Queen Sylva had been known for her fierce protectiveness over her children. Why had her three-year-old daughter being kidnapped by the Empire been allowed? 

He didn’t have time to ponder these questions. Not now. “But what if she’s alive, Ravus? What if she’s here seeking asylum same as you?”

Ravus’ glare bore into Ignis. “She’s been with the empire for seventeen years, Ignis.” 735 then. The year Noctis was born. Was that somehow tied into her kidnapping? Into the reason that this Ravus _still_ harbored anger at Lucis? 

No. This still wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

“Then a reunion is long overdue.” Ignis said. 

Ravus glared at Ignis, and Ignis held his ground. Too many times he had similar fights with Gladio. To look away would be to admit defeat, and Ignis would not admit defeat on this. He was going to help Ravus find Lunafreya – if she was in the city. 

If she wasn’t, well. Then Ignis was going to make sure Ravus didn’t do something he’d later regret to whoever was impersonating his sister.

Ravus looked away. “We both have tomorrow off. We’ll start looking then.”

“Agreed.” Ignis nodded. Ravus turned away and made it to the threshold of the doors before a thought occurred to Ignis. “Ravus?” The prince turned around. His gaze was still hard, his body still tense, but he was _listening_, and that was all Ignis could ask for now. “Don’t go looking without me.”

Ravus’ hand clenched and unclenched. “Fine.” He agreed, and then he was gone; hoisting himself up over the railing to over to his own townhome. Ignis watched the balcony for a moment before getting a blanket off the couch and curling up in the chair outside. 

He didn’t trust Ravus.

~

“Are you sure this is the place?” Ravus’ voice was a low growl, as it tended to be anytime they were searching for the girl claiming to be sister. Which was to say anytime that they weren’t with Weskham or working at Maagho. 

It had been a week, and yet all their attempts to find her thus far had ended in failure. Ignis had faith in their current attempt, however. Their previous attempts were like randomly digging through a haystack for a needle, but this attempt had some direction to it.

The rumors had been growing, enough that Ignis had overheard one of the patrons of Maagho, Ronso, talking about ‘Lady Lunafreya’ performing miracles at Pacente Park. Naturally, this was news that Ignis passed off to Ravus instead of Weskham. 

The prince had wanted to go immediately, but Ignis had convinced him to wait until a day they were both off from Maagho. So, two days after hearing the rumor, there they were: in Pacente Park.

It was considerably different than the last time Ignis saw the place. Last time it had been ruined by Leviathan’s anger and Niflheim forces. This time, it was normal.

“Ronso said to look for the ice, it’ll lead the way.” Ignis answered Ravus. 

Ravus didn’t answer except to scowl. When Ignis had first relayed the information, Ravus had argued that his sister had not been Bonded. Shiva was weakened from her fight with Niflheim in 720, and had not the strength for a bonding.

Ignis privately disagreed. She had ‘fallen’ in 745 in his reality, and by 756, she had _plenty_ of strength still.

He ignored the prince and cast his gaze around the park, looking for anything ‘icy’ to lead the way. There was a shaved ice vendor, but Ignis doubted very much that that was the clue. 

“You’d think it would be easier to find her if she’s offering mira…” The prince’s muttering trailed off, and Ignis looked over his shoulder to ensure he was alright. Weskham would have his head if anything happened. Especially because the only reason they were out and about was because of Ignis telling Ravus news that Weskham wanted kept secret.

Ravus was standing by a pillar holding up a balcony that overlooked the park. He reached out and touched something on the pillar, and as Ignis approached, he realized it was ice.

To be more precise, it was actually a handprint made of frost. There was a delicate pattern to it, as there was with most frost, but this pattern had Ignis pausing. A snowflake fractal of a sylleblossom. Tender vines of frost traced the pillar, spreading out from the handprint.

The frost should have been melting, but it wasn’t. He reached out and touched it himself. It was cold and slick under his fingers, but it did not change. It did not melt. 

“This isn’t painted.” Ignis commented quietly before looking to the prince. 

Ravus looked… for lack of a better word, shattered. He had yet to take his fingers off the palm of the handprint, his jaw slack, and eyes wide. Ignis gave him a few minutes before gently nudging him. Ravus came back with a slow blink and a thick swallow. His hand fell from the ice slowly, like he was afraid it would vanish if he looked away.

“This doesn’t mean she’s my sister.” He whispered. His voice was shaking, and Ignis hurt for him. “This just means Shiva is involved.”

“The ice will lead the way.” Ignis repeated. “There must be another around here that we need to find.”

There were several. Each the same as before, a delicate handprint of frost, leading them down into the darker areas of the city. The parts of the city one would only venture to if they had nothing to lose. The parts of the city where one would best be able to hide.

Here, the frost handprints seemed to glow with a light all of their own. A shining beacon in the darkness for them to follow. Alleyway to alleyway, pillar to pillar, building to building. The sun was already blocked by the buildings, but Ignis could tell that evening was setting in.

He was going to suggest stopping when they came to an alleyway that glowed. It was coated in the frosted sylleblossoms; the walls covered; the ground coated. A cold chill passed through Ignis, and was immediately replaced by the static shock of Ramuh as the Astrals acknowledged the shared presence of their Bonded. 

“She’s here.” Ignis whispered. Ravus side eyed him and nodded. 

“Then let us go.”

There were bits of ice that formed actual flowers at the entrance, but as they proceeded down the alley, they sporadically showed up with increasing frequency. 

“Blessed Stars of Life and Light, deliver us from darkness’ blight.” The words were so soft spoken, Ignis wasn’t sure if he had imagined them. The voice was as sweet as a bell, and one he had heard countless times over the radio as she made an address.

He hadn’t even seen her, and yet he _knew_. This was Ravus’ sister. This was the Princess of Tenebrae, future Oracle of the Astrals: Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. 

They rounded the corner of the alleyway to see a small boxed area – not uncommon in Altissia. What was uncommon was the field of icy sylleblossoms that swayed in a nonexistent wind. What was uncommon was the light those blossoms made of ice gave off, illuminating two women: one at the edge of the field, and the other kneeling in the middle of it.

Lunafreya. 

A man kneeled before Lunafreya, and her hands were glowing brighter than the flowers as she took the mans’ face into her hands. Before Ignis’ eyes, the scourge dripping off the man evaporated in dark smoke like it had never existed to begin with. He looked up at Lunafreya with admiration. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. The whisper echoed in this place, and Lunafreya smiled. 

“Do not thank me.” She told him lightly. “I only ask that you share my location with those who need it.” 

The man stood while Lunafreya remained kneeling, and exited using an alleyway by the other woman standing at the edge. Her stance was familiar to Ignis, although he couldn’t think of why. 

“I think that’s the last one for today.” A woman’s voice echoed from the end of the alley. It was stern, hard and entirely too familiar to Ignis: Aranea Highwind. No wonder she had seemed familiar. What was a mercenary of Niflheim doing here?

“No.” Lunafreya looked to them, standing in the corner of the entrance. “I don’t believe so.” The corner of her lips were slowly curving upwards into a smile. 

Ravus stepped into the field, and Aranea slipped into a defensive stance. Ravus did not have any eyes for her, only his sister.

“Lunafreya.” He said as he dropped to his knees before her. She reached up and cupped his face, just as she had with the previous man. Her hands were not glowing, but her eyes might as well as been.

“I had hoped that you would find me, Ravus.” At his name dropping from her lips, he pulled her into himself, wrapping his arms around her, like he was afraid she would disappear just as the scourge on that man had. He rested his head on her crown, and Ignis thought he might have been crying. 

It felt like a personal moment that shouldn’t be interrupted. Aranea, apparently, disagreed as she pulled out her weapon. Ignis moved forward quickly with the intent to intercept the mercenary. 

“Nea.” Lunafreya somehow pulled herself away from her brother and looked over her shoulder at the mercenary. “I am safe.” 

Aranea stopped halfway between where she started and the two. This close, Ignis could see her gaze darting between the siblings. She bared her teeth. “Are you sure?” Her gaze shifted to Ignis a moment later. 

The weapon she had, thankfully, wasn’t the Stross Spear, but a dagger. Ignis only had a dagger himself, something he refused to leave home without after finding out he had been unarmed in the mugging that took the Ignis from this reality’s life. 

“I am.” Lunafreya stood up with some assistance from Ravus, and listed to the side against him. Ignis was immediately worried for her, but he doubted his worry could eclipse the amount Ravus was radiating. “Ravus, this is Aranea Highwind. She helped to rescue me.”

“How do you know that’s your brother?” Aranea demanded, “And not some spy to steal you back?”

“You’re just sour that I was right.” Lunafreya responded. Despite listing, she held her head up high. 

Aranea scowled. Lunafreya ignored her to look over at Ignis, and he could see the exact moment she realized what he was. “Oh.” She said. “You’re a Messenger. Thank you for bringing me my brother.”

“Ignis Scientia, at your service, your highness.” Ignis stepped forward with a bow. “It’s nearing night. If you ladies would like, I would be more than happy to provide accommodations.”

“We’re not going anywhere until I know for sure that she’s safe.” Aranea all but snarled. 

“I would never do anything to put my sister in danger.” Ravus’ growled in response. “Not now that I’ve found her.” Lunafreya slipped away from him to Ignis, and he allowed the princess to lean against him as Ravus and Aranea met in the middle and stared each other down. “And how do I know _you’re_ not a Niflheim spy using her as bait?”

Lunafreya let out a very, very tired sounding sigh. 

“How do you know she’s your sister?”

“Because I just saw her use our family’s gift to heal a man and there’s _ice_ everywhere! Of course she’s my sister! You still haven’t answered my questions!”

“And you haven’t answered mine!”

They were so much in each other’s face right now that Ignis mused that if he pushed one of them towards the other, they’d probably accidently kiss. And wasn’t that a pairing to bring about a headache? Ravus and Aranea. 

How on Eos had they survived fighting on the same side in his reality? 

“Do you think they would notice if we slipped away now?” Lunafreya whispered. Her voice did not have the same echoey quality as before, and Ignis noticed that the glow of the icy flowers was fading. Whatever strength she had was failing.

Ravus and Aranea were still nose to nose; hissing, growling, and snarling like animals. Ignis turned them out as he turned his attention to the princess. Ravus could handle himself against her. It wasn’t like she had her spear with her.

“I don’t believe Aranea would be happy with that.” Ignis replied. Lunafreya hummed, and gave him a speculative look. 

“No. Probably not. She won’t admit it, but I think I’ve grown on her.” She paused, and then called out, “Nea!” with a louder volume than Ignis thought her currently capable of. Aranea abruptly broke off from staring at Ravus. “We’re taking their accommodations. If you don’t trust Ravus, then at least trust Ignis as a Messenger.”

If looks could kill, Ignis was certain he would be impaled on the end of the Stoss Spear. “Fine.” It sounded like the word had been strangled before she could even speak it. 

“Lunafreya can stay with me.” Ravus immediately suggested. Aranea might as well as been a cat for how her hackles rose. 

“She’ll stay with the Messenger.” She hissed. “I don’t trust you.”

“And I don’t trust you.” Ravus spat back.

“Then you can stay together.” Lunafreya suggested. “You two will surely trust each other better after spending a night together.”

Both Ravus and Aranea wore equal expressions of surprise and outrage. Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. Ravus and Aranea turned on each other again only a second later.

“Leaving without them is still an option.” Lunafreya suggested. 

“And wake in the morning to the news of Ravus being gutted? No, I think not.” He shook his head. “The princess grows more tired the longer you fight.” He called out to them. “Let us at least bring this conversation back home where she can rest in relative peace.”

Lunafreya’s welfare was apparently the only thing that Ravus and Aranea could agree upon as that shut them both up. Aranea took a couple steps back from Ravus and with one last cutting glare at him, turned away to the edge where she had been standing. She turned seconds later with a shawl that she wrapped around Lunafreya. 

And then they were off.

Ignis imagined they might quite the procession as they made their way through Altissia’s darkened streets. Ravus and Aranea both insisted on being next to Lunafreya, leading to the poor girl being sandwiched between them. Ignis trailed behind at a more leisurely pace, keeping an eye out for any threats to the two royals.

After a few moments, another step of footsteps joined his. “This reunion was long overdue.” Ramuh commented.

Ah. Yet another suspicion proven correct. “I was to stay in Altissia to ensure this meeting.” 

Ramuh’s gaze cut from the royals to Ignis and then back to the royals. The Astral didn’t confirm or deny the claims, but Ignis knew he was right. “What do you know of Messengers?”

“Only what the Book of Cosmogony could tell me.” Ignis admitted. “There is little information about them, even less on being Bonded.”

Ramuh hummed. “It may be prudent for you and the young Oracle to seek out Cait Sith. You may find an answer to a question you did not know you had there.”

“Cait Sith?” Ignis repeated. Cosmogony only spoke of the Messengers briefly, but he thought the name might have been on the list of the original twenty-four. “Is… he in the city?”

Like any other time Ignis had asked a question, it was answered in silence. He glanced to the side, but Ramuh was already gone. Ignis sighed. Of course he was gone. When did Ramuh ever answer anything Ignis asked? 

The Astral was a wholehearted believer of finding the answers on their own. Perhaps Shiva would be more forthcoming with Lunafreya. He continued behind them until they reached the street that they lived on. Then he sped up to catch up with the group.

He was curious how they were going to approach their homes. 

Normally, If Ravus wanted to keep his arrival secret, he would use the docks under the balconies to reach the end where Ignis’ house was, climb up to the balcony and jump over. But that wasn’t exactly an option here. 

He doubted Aranea would be receptive to the idea, and even if she was, he doubted further that Lunafreya was in any state to follow the route.

Ignis had never asked for the reason for this behavior, as he assumed that he should have already known. True to Ignis’ prediction, it seemed that wasn’t the plan now. The group walked past Weskham’s home like it wasn’t important and stopped at Ignis’ door. 

“I’ll collect you both for breakfast.” Ravus said, looking not at Ignis but at Lunafreya like he was afraid she would vanish in the morning. Ignis couldn’t say that he blamed him. The last time this Ravus had seen his sister in person, she had been just a toddler. Now here she was, all grown up.

“I await the morn.” Lunafreya replied. She bowed her head slightly before turning to Ignis and waiting for him to allow them in. Ravus and Aranea backtracked the couple of feet to Ravus’ door. 

They must have hammered out sleeping arraignments on the walk here. Ignis couldn’t say that he was sad to have missed them. If anything, he pitied Lunafreya for having to hear them. 

He allowed her entry first, and she removed her boots – ones good for long travel – and left her shawl on a hook by the door before making her way into the home. He headed into the kitchen while she poked around in the living room. 

“Did you want anything to drink or eat?” He asked, watching her from over the ‘breakfast bar’ as she examined pictures of him and Ravus on the bookcases. She picked one up and bit her bottom lip before putting it back down tenderly like it was something special.

She was thinner than he thought she ought to be. Nothing but skin and bones and clothes. She wasn’t even wearing Tenebraen or Imperial white, but a hodgepodge of clothes that one would expect from a tourist.

She had not come to Altissia to make a statement or garner attention. So why had she come here? Was it for asylum as Ignis had suggested to Ravus?

“If it’s not any trouble.” She said. Ignis nodded to himself and after a second of thought, started pulling out the ingredients for a breaded cutlet with tomato. “Noctis once told me the food you make is to die for.” Ignis stopped mid-movement.

The words echoed in his head, bouncing around like one of Prompto’s rubber balls that he used to bounce off the side of buildings when bored in Insomnia. _Noctis once told me the food you make is to die for. _

Lunafreya had been with the empire since she was three. Noctis never traveled to Tenebrae. Ignis never learned to cook. The only way for that sentence to make sense was if…

“You’re not from this reality.” He turned away from his ingredients to stare at her. She was still looking at the photos, a different one this time; one with Weskham in it as well.

“No more than you.” She replied, putting the photo back down. She twisted around to look at him, and offered a very tired smile. She still listed to the side occasionally. “One moment I was helping Noctis at the end, and when it was over… I was in a research facility in Niflheim.”

Her body quivered as she finished, and she automatically wrapped her arms around herself when she mentioned the facility. Ignis had been blessed to not see the horrors there, but he still knew. 

There was silence for a good moment. Lunafreya stood still, or at least tried to. She swayed like she was unsteady on her feet, and Ignis frowned. 

“The sun rose just shortly before I was felled. Take a seat. I’ll have some food for you shortly.” Perhaps breaded cutlets in tomato sauce would be too heavy for her. Soup it was then. Maybe some toast and jam as well, if she felt up to it. He cleared his throat as he turned back to the kitchen and task at hand. 

“So Noctis succeeded.” She mused. “That warms my heart to hear.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she took a seat on the couch, as gracefully as one would expect of a royal. She sat there, poised and proper for all of a moment before leaning against the armrest and tucking her legs under her and her feet in the cushion.

Ignis did not call her out on the lack of decorum. He would not. If she took comfort in that, then he would allow it. 

“How did you know?” He asked as he cut up the meat – daggerquill this time – to put in the soup. 

“You knew Nea’s name, most of these books are on history, and you are not the first from our reality that I have met.”

That too gave Ignis pause. He knew there were at least two others: Leviathan’s bonded, and the other who had made a deal with the Lucii. He suspected the Lucii one to be the Glaive who had managed to wear the ring, although his name escaped Ignis. Lunafreya fit into neither of those slots.

“Oh?”

She hummed. “Prompto was very upset he couldn’t come, especially as the Hydraean had claimed him. It was because of that that we thought to come to Altissia to find Ravus.”

Ignis closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out, and wordlessly wondered ‘what the fuck?’. That sentence was a bombshell that he was not prepared to take. And it was his _job_ to predict bombshells. To be able to accurate predict such things to be able to prepare Noctis for whatever may pass.

But this sentence Lunafreya just dropped on him? 

There were at least three things he could take from it: 1) _His_ Prompto was here. 2) Prompto was the poor unlucky soul who Leviathan had chosen over him. 3) Lunafreya had come to Altissia looking for Ravus.

He worked through those thoughts in turn as he continued preparing and cooking the meal; starting with Prompto’s existence here.

Prompto and Ignis didn’t always have much in common, but the one thing they did was their devotion to Noctis. Ignis thought he was crushed by whatever fate had befallen Noctis here, but he was sure it was nothing to what Prompto felt. 

Wait.

Lunafreya was in a Niflheim research facility. She traveled with a Niflheim mercenary. She just spoke about meeting with Prompto. Prompto who had originally been created to be a Magitek Soldier. Prompto who was apparently in Niflheim here.

Ignis felt like he was going to be sick. He felt like he needed to take a seat. He felt like the floor had just opened up beneath him because while he had been lamenting being in Altissia and away from Noctis… Prompto had been in _Niflheim_. 

“Six.” Ignis swore aloud. _Nothing_ Ignis felt would be comparable to how Prompto would have felt upon waking in this reality. 

What kind of friend was he? To have never even considered the _Prompto_ of this reality? He had been so caught up in Noctis and his own pity party of feelings over being in Altissia instead of by his prince’s side.

“He’s fine.” He didn’t know when she had moved, but Lunafreya stood before him in the kitchen, her cold hands on his face as she gazed intently into his eyes. “Prompto is fine.” She repeated, her voice was the soft tinkle of windchime bells. “He’s… Aranea found him when he was young. She took him and blew up the facility and has been a fugitive of the empire since. But he’s _fine_.”

Ignis felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He could breath again. The microwave behind Lunafreya flashed, asking for the time. The range underneath it as well. He heard the clicks of various electronics come back to life. 

Something hit the wall that he shared with Ravus’ unit from Ravus’ side. He thought he heard a shout as well. Had he killed electricity for the entire block (again) or just his and Ravus’ units? He desperately needed a way to control this.

It appeared he wasn’t the only one. There was frosted footprints leading from the couch to where Lunafreya stood. Her smile was sheepish when she noticed him looking at them.

He didn’t comment on them. There were more pressing thoughts on his mind.

“Prompto’s safe?”

“Yes. Quite. If Aranea’s plan goes as it should, by the time 756 arrives, she’ll be seated as Empress of the Niflheim Empire.” 

“Can you… is it possible, for you to allow me time to process?” Ignis asked. “This is… a lot.”

“It is.” Lunafreya nodded. “I thought the same when Prompto rescued me.”

“I thought Aranea did?”

“No.” There was another sheepish smile from Lunafreya. “She was involved, but Prompto was the one who entered the facility to get me out. I might still be stuck there if not for him.” 

There was a knock on the door at the same time there was a knock on the balcony door. Weskham and Ravus. If Weskham was here, then Ignis _had_ temporarily killed power for the entire block (again). “Go to the balcony. Explain things to Ravus. I’ll handle the front door.”

There was no time to think. No time to process. He just needed to do what needed to do. And that started with not allowing Weskham into his home without a good excuse for the white frosted footprints on the floor. 

He was in the kitchen. There was an easy excuse no matter how loathe he was to do it. He spilled flour on the floor and himself, and then quickly spread it so it even reached the living room and the balcony door. Only once the rush job was done, did he open the door.

Weskham frowned at him. Ignis plastered a clearly fake smile and with a not-as-fake nervous laugh, allowed him entry. “What happened? It’s been two weeks since your last… outburst.”

“I attempting to make some Fluffy Chiffon cake, and an animal startled me on the balcony. I didn’t mean to… it was an accident.” Weskham did not look convinced, but he eyed Ignis – or more accurately the flour on Ignis – and then the flour all over the kitchen. 

When he looked back to Ignis, there was a look of suspicion in his gaze. He sighed, and Ignis tried his hardest not to cringe.

“I know you want to work in the kitchens, but don’t push yourself too hard.” Weskham reached out like he was going to clasp Ignis’ shoulder, but aborted the action at the last moment. “Be more careful, please.”

“I’ll try.” Ignis’ cheeks were beginning to hurt from the fake smile. Weskham sighed again, a smaller one this time before shaking his head and exiting. Ignis counted to ten before he slumped against the door and let out his own sigh. 

They would need to inform Weskham about Lunafreya’s presence eventually. Key word there: eventually. Much like Ravus, Weskham didn’t believe the rumors to have actually been about Lunafreya. How could they as they assumed it would take divine intervention for her to be out of Niflheim’s hands?

In a way… Ignis supposed it had taken divine intervention. And also, in a way, if Aranea had lofty aspirations to be empress, then technically, Lunafreya wasn’t out of Niflheim’s hands just yet.

This was a political nightmare. Scratch that. This was a nightmare in general.

He shook his head, attempted to pat off most of the flour, and then went to the balcony to join Luafreya and Ravus. Well, Lunafreya, Ravus _and Aranea_, he amended when he saw that she was on Ravus’ balcony frowning at the royal siblings. 

Ignis eyed her. Empress, huh? He would have never guessed it. But stranger things had happened. She couldn’t be worse than Aldercapt. 

Still, it looked like things in this reality were shaping up to be quite a bit different than his own. He only hoped it was a good different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys notice any typos or mistakes, or if you feel something needs to be said to me for any reason... please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Come Talk to me on my [Tumblr](https://star-gazing-knight.tumblr.com/)!


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